The Story of Magus
by ZealPropht
Summary: The tale of Magus' life; his loves, his losses, and his rise to power. This story is loosely based on the CT game.
1. A Prince Is Born, Part 1

**The Story Of Magus**

A Prince Is Born, Part 1

By ZealPropht

The door of the audience room flew open with a resounding noise. Many of the assembled Enlightened started in shock; some even dropped a biscuit or two from their plates as they stared, wide-eyed and expectant, at the man who had just arrived. Gaspar, the Guru of Time, stood before them. He looked as if he had jogged from the royal apartments, as he was quite out of breath.

Using his sleeve, the old man mopped at his sweat-beaded brow and leaned against the door-jam to catch his breath. Every eye in the room was trained on him, but he appeared oblivious to the attention.

At last, when the tension grew too much to bear, a woman near the door timidly asked, "Is everything well with the Queen? Was her childbirth successful?"

This seemed to open the flood gates. Dozens of voices filled the air, all demanding answers to their various questions. Gaspar tried to speak, but all the came out was a hoarse cough.

"Here, now! Give the man some room!" Belthasar, Guru of Reason, prodded people out of his way with his cane. Behind him trailed his ever-present Nu companion, and Melchior, the Guru of Life.

"This way, Gaspar." Melchior motioned for his friend to have a seat on one of the plush armchairs that furnished the room. "Have a spot of tea, and catch your wind-"

"Nevermind all that! Tell us the news!" someone from the crowd interjected. Other people mumbled in assent.

"He'll say what he came to say in good time!" Belthesar shouted back. "You've waited this long, so you can afford to wait a few moments more." The old man jabbed his cane in Gaspar's direction, then over at the chair. "As for you, sit down before you fall down."

Gaspar nodded and wheezed his way over to the offered chair. Belthasar poured him a cupful of steaming tea, which the other Guru accepted gratefully. After a few sips, he seemed a lot more rejuvenated.

"Thank you," he said, and settled the cup back on the saucer resting on an end table. "My throat was so dry from running, I could barely swallow, let alone speak."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" a woman huffed. "The suspense is killing me! Get on with it, already! What of the Queen?

Gaspar coughed again to clear his throat. "As you all know," he began, "Queen Zeal's pregnancy has been a difficult one. There was some speculation that she might have been unable to bear the infant to term, lest it endanger her life. Queen Zeal was adamantly against terminating the pregnancy, and against our better judgment," and here he shot a look at Melchior and Belthasar, "we allowed her to continue.

"For many months, we watched. We prayed. The royal physicians kept us informed of her Majesty's condition, and even though the strain was wearing on her, our valiant Queen did all in her power to protect the new life stirring so faintly within her womb."

The assembly nodded to Gaspar's words, if somewhat impatiently. It was no secret that the Gurus had been against the pregnancy, nor that the Queen had more at stake to lose than just the life of her unborn child. She was but a second wife, after all, and not a very beloved one at that. The death of the first Queen of Zeal still weighed heavily in the heart and mind of the King, as well as those of the Enlightened. It had taken all of her feminine wiles to lure her unwilling husband to her bed; chances were slim of there being a second opportunity for her if this baby didn't live to draw its first breath.

Gaspar picked up his tea again, staring into the shallow amber depths. "Life is such a fragile thing. It can come and go in an instant, much like the blowing of the wind."

Several people shuddered and made signs of protection over their hearts. Superstitious beliefs ran high amongst most of the Enlightened, and no supernatural occurrence was more feared than the Black Wind. Few had the ability to sense it, and those that did hated their "gift" with a passion. When the Black Wind howled, destruction and death weren't far behind.

Melchior and Belthasar exchanged worried looks. Gaspar was known for his light-hearted attitude. Now, their friend looked world weary, defeated.

"Her Majesty bore twin sons," he said abruptly.

The assembled Enlightened breathed a collective sigh of relief at this news, giving the appropriate polite applause. As they broke into excited chattering, only his friends noticed the trembling of Gaspar's hands around his teacup.

Melchior knelt stiffly beside the Guru of Time and placed a hand on his friend's arm. Gaspar looked at him, and his eyes were haunted.

"There's more…isn't there."

Gaspar nodded and closed his eyes. "Not long after the Queen went into labor, complications began to arise. I could make little sense of what exactly was going on, but the physicians agreed that a natural birth would be ill advised. The children would have to be delivered another way." His eyes pressed even more tightly shut, as if he were trying to block an image from his mind. "They had to cut her open, Melchior. They gave her medicine to dull the pain, but…"

Melchior looked ill as he glanced up at Belthasar. The Guru of Reason was staring ahead, his expression stony.

Gaspar drew a tremulous breath before continuing. "There were two babies. Twin boys, they told me. But something had gone wrong. The physicians weren't sure what had happened, only that one child was alive…and the other was stillborn. They said, the stronger child must have somehow been siphoning the life from his brother while in the womb."

Melchior removed the tea from Gaspar's hands as the trembling grew worse. "How tragic for the Queen," he whispered. "To gain one child, but lose another at the same time."

"That is the duality of life," Belthasar said gruffly. "In order to achieve anything, a sacrifice must be made." Looking down at his pet Nu, he stroked the blue creature's head. "Reason tells me that this is true, but the heart often rejects reason in times like these." He glanced to the gaily chattering Enlightened and growled deep in his throat. "Stop celebrating, you fools! Everything isn't as rosy as you believe it to be."

"Leave them be. A birth, any birth, is still a cause for happiness." Gaspar wiped a hand over his face, and he attempted a half-hearted smile. "The throne finally has a male heir."

"A sadly outdated notion," Melchior sniffed, and used the armrest of Gaspar's chair to raise himself to his feet. "Schala is as bright as her mother was. When the time came, she would have been more than able to ascend the throne."

"Our laws are rooted in tradition," Belthasar pointed out.

"Bah! King Melath changed the law to justify deposing his half brother and sister, and you know it," Melchior shot back.

But Belthasar shook his head. "It was never proven that Melath was really a bastard child of the old king. And besides, his brother wasn't right in head, nor was his tyrannical sister." When Melchior looked ready to protest further, the Guru of Reason held up his hands. "Peace, my friend. This is not the time, nor the place, to argue semantics. If you wish to make policy, do it before the Grand Council."

"Perhaps I shall, at that."

Gaspar's lukewarm smile became brighter at his friends' bickering. Perhaps all was not as bad as it seemed. Life marched on, regardless, even when one life was lost. Time stood still for no man; that was the very core of his teachings as one of the three Gurus.

Looking out the window, the old man prayed in his heart that the royal couple could work out their differences now, and bring love back to the palace.

_And please,_ he thought to himself as he watched the setting sun glint off the panes of glass, _let them choose a name befitting their most precious son._

--

She kept staring at the blanket.

King Melath rolled his eyes at his wife's behavior as the physicians cleaned her up from the impromptu surgery.

"We expect that her Majesty will make a full recovery in due time," they had told him, and that news had cheered his otherwise sour mood. If Ardaria was on the mend, then there was no reason for him to stay any longer than he had to.

He looked for his daughter.

Schala was curled up in an armchair by the window, being a good girl and keeping out of everyone's way. Melath felt his expression soften as he looked at her. He had told her that the birthing process was a messy one, and something that a girl her age should probably not witness, but she had insisted on staying. Her eyes were wide and scared, and he regretted having allowed her to see them carving the babies out of her stepmother.

"Schala," he said gently, and she looked at him. "Everything is alright. Your…mother…will be fine." It was still so hard to call Ardaria by that name, but his daughter had taken a strange liking to his second wife and refused to call her anything else.

Looking at the disheveled second Queen of Zeal, he wondered what Schala saw in such a pale, unattractive woman. She was nothing like his dear, departed Valeya. Still, Schala needed a mother's influence, and Ardaria provided that well enough. He would suffer her presence if it meant making his daughter happy. As for this other child…

The healthy new prince lay quite still in his crib. He was an ugly, red, wrinkled thing with large eyes and a tuft of turquoise hair jutting from the top of his head. He was unnatural in his silence, having uttered little to no sounds since he was extracted, bloody and naked, from Ardaria's womb, along with his unfortunate brother.

She was still staring at the blanket.

Melath gave an irritated sigh. "Someone take that thing out of here," he ordered, pointing to the shroud-like cloth that encased the stillborn infant, the second prince. "Burn it, bury it, I care not. Just remove it from my sight at once!"

As one of the physicians hurried to comply, he placed his body between the blanket and his wife to break her train of vision. She moved her unfocused, drugged eyes up to his face as if it were a supreme effort to do so.

"I failed you," she said, her voice low and slurring.

"Nonsense. We still have one healthy boy, and that's all that matters in the eyes of the Grand Council. We have an heir to carry on my bloodline." He rubbed his hands together briskly. "That being the case, you will no longer have to endure my nightly visits to your quarters. I'm sure you'll appreciate that."

Ardaria lowered her head, and her hair fell into her face. Melath had the momentary urge to stroke it away from her ashen cheeks before he stopped himself.

"Was that all I was to you? A receptacle to incubate your seed?" she whispered. Tear drops splattered on the bloody, sweat-stained bedclothes clenched in her slender hands. "Melath…I'm your _wife-_"

"I can hardly forget, Ardaria. You mention it often enough." Melath regretted snapping at her so. After all, she _had_ just been through a traumatic ordeal, and he didn't really hate her as much as he seemed to. But he couldn't bring himself to love her, either. His heart had died with Valeya.

The physicians went about their work, cleaning their instruments even as the maids entered to change the soiled linens. They kept their eyes downcast, pretending to ignore the marital spat, even as they filed the conversation away for gossiping about later.

Ignoring the muffled sobs coming from under Ardaria's curtain of blue hair, Melath bent over her demure form and planted a wooden kiss on the top of her head.

Stepping back, he cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that I must leave you now, my dear. I have pressing business on the Earthbound continent. The doctors assure me that you are on the road to recovery, so you have little to fear on that score." He gave her a formal bow. "Rest easy, and I shall check in on you again when I return."

And he really would check on her this time, he told himself, unlike all the other times he had promised to do so and then…hadn't. But if this Earthbound revolt kept him a few days longer than expected, he certainly couldn't be blamed for that, now could he?

As he turned to go, he felt a tug at his clothing. A hand as white as snow clutched at his sleeve. He followed it down Ardaria's arm to her face. Her eyes were red and puffy from her tears, and her lower lip trembled.

"Don't leave me," she begged. She was only able to find voice enough for the first word, and she mouthed the rest. "Please, Melath…"

He firmly shook his arm free, but there was true sorrow in his voice when he spoke. "Ardaria… I'm sorry." And he was. For everything.

Schala followed him to the door of the bedroom, throwing confused glances back at her sobbing stepmother. "Are you going away again?"

Melath knelt down so he could be more at eye level with his eight year-old daughter. "Only on a short trip this time. I'll be back soon."

"Mama already misses you."

Melath winced, but forced a smile. "You'll be brave for me, though, won't you?" When she nodded, he pulled her to him in a tight embrace. "That's my girl."

Father and daughter hugged each other for quite some time before they reluctantly let go.

Melath fondly stroked her hair, and Schala leaned into his touch like a kitten. "Be good for everyone, won't you?"

"Papa, I'm always a good girl," she rebuked him with a pout of her lip. Then all seriousness, she said, "But I'll be extra good while Mama is getting better."

"That's right. You have a new baby brother to look after now, too."

Schala cocked her head to one side as her father rose to his feet. "What're we going to call him?"

"I'm sure Ardaria-" He broke off at Schala's disapproving look and tried again. "I'm sure your…mother…will come up with something appropriate."

Melath looked over at the bassinet where his newborn son lay. He wondered what he should be feeling at this moment. Pride, maybe? A sense of satisfaction? All he felt was emptiness, and even a little bit of self-loathing. Deep down, he knew that if both boys had died instead of just the one, some part of him would have rejoiced. If he couldn't find it in his heart to love his son's mother, he very much doubted that he could ever bring himself to love his son.

_No child should ever be denied their father's love,_ he thought, and memories of his own childhood flashed before his eyes.

How Melath had hated his sire for declaring him a bastard son, simply because he could no longer stand the woman he had married. And now, years later, Melath was shunning his own flesh and blood as the baby's grandfather had done.

_The sins of the fathers are visited upon their children._ The King of Zeal tore his eyes away from the crib. _Better he should have died with his twin than to live with my disdain._

"Be well, my daughter," Melath said, his voice thick. He could feel Schala's eyes on him, as well as Ardaria's, as he left the room. He never once looked back.

--

The Blackbird was truly a piece of work.

Captain Dalton always felt a smug sense of satisfaction when looking at the giant metal "bird" that he had weaseled away from that stingy old fart, Belthasar.

"Pah! Someone like you could never understand the mechanics behind something like the Blackbird!" Belthasar had scoffed. "If I wanted it destroyed, I'd crash the damn thing myself before I let you have it."

Oh, how he had made that fool eat his words! One proclamation from the King, and it had been goodbye Belthasar, hello Blackbird.

_That'll teach that old codger to come between me and what I want!_ Dalton thought, and he threw back his head and laughed for the sheer pleasure of it.

"Captain Dalton!"

The warrior-wizard turned to face one of his many lackeys. The man was as nondescript as they came, and easily forgettable. Dalton yawned.

"What is it? Can't you see that I'm gloating over here?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I mean…" The lackey trailed off, confused. Dalton had that effect on people.

"Who did you say you were again?"

"Er… I'm part of the security force the King ordered to protect the Blackbird. My name is-"

"Of no importance to me. You're just a dumb grunt, anyway," Dalton finished for him.

The lackey frowned. "If you say so, sir."

"So, what do you want?"

The lackey presented Dalton with a clipboard. "I was told to give you this." As his superior looked over the papers, he explained, "The inspection of the Blackbird was completed this afternoon. The mechanics couldn't find the source of the clanging you mentioned, but they did note that some of the equipment seems a little unstable. Certain panels are giving inaccurate readouts. They suggested holding off on using the Blackbird until Guru Belthasar can come down here, himself, and do a tune-up."

Dalton tossed the clipboard to the lackey in disgust. "I'm trying to avoid involving that geezer. That's the whole point behind why I had _you_ morons taking a look at things!"

"I-I'm sorry!" Cowed, the lackey bowed his head. "I'm just the messenger-"

"Whatever! Get out of my sight."

Dalton turned back to look at the Blackbird, ignoring the lackey as he stumbled off with a dazed expression on his face.

The blue-black metal was stained with the rosy light of the setting sun. The wings stretched majestically over identical catwalks leading to cargo holds on the sides. It was a marvel of science and magic such as Zeal Kingdom had never seen before.

And it was all his.

He knew that Belthasar would never let him keep it if he had his way. He would try to use this tune-up as a way to expose Dalton as an incompetent buffoon. Part of him wondered if the Guru would even sink so low as to sabotage the Blackbird, just to make it seem as if Dalton were too stupid to find the real problem.

_It's such an impressive piece of machinery_, the warrior-wizard thought, _and I'll be damned if I'll let Belthasar take it away from me!_

"Captain Dalton!" It was that same lackey again.

"I thought I told you to go away?" he snarled, rounding on the unfortunate man with balled fists.

"King Melath has arrived," the lackey blurted out, seeming much more afraid of their liege than of Dalton's threatening stance. "He's demanding to speak with you."

Without another word, the tall, blonde Captain brushed past the trembling lackey and hurried to the docking bay. The King had a short fuse these days; it wouldn't do to keep him waiting.

Rushing didn't seem to do any good, however, as Melath was already in a foul mood when Dalton arrived.

Before the Captain could open his mouth to apologize for the delay, King Melath was already waving him into silence. "I wish to be taken to Terra Continent at once."

"Your wish is my command, your Majesty." Dalton rubbed his hands together, a nervous smile on his face. "If you'll just board the Blackbird, we shall depart on your command." He made a sweeping bow for effect.

King Melath grunted acknowledgement and strode up the boarding ramp with an imperious air. His servants trailed along behind him, looking down their noses at Dalton as they passed. He remained in a suitably obsequious position until they were all out of sight. Then, he straightened and popped a kink out of his back.

One day, he vowed, he wouldn't have to take that sort of abuse. Everyone would be bowing and scraping over _him_, not the other way around.

He suddenly realized that the Blackbird's crew was assembled and awaiting orders.

"Don't just stand there, you pin-heads!" he shouted. "You heard the King. Get your lazy asses in gear!"

Everyone scattered. When he was mad, Dalton was known to take out his anger on those around him, usually with his fist.

The warrior-wizard hurried up the gangplank after his liege and found him settling into the royal cabin. Unlike the very militaristic atmosphere of the rest of the ship, this room was furnished in opulent red and gold, with a thick carpet and padded furniture.

Though technically it wasn't allowed, Dalton had snuck in here on several occasions and seated himself in the throne-like chairs. He would close his eyes and pretend that he wasn't just some drone to the king, but someone of importance. Seeing Melath relaxing in this special room, acting as if he owned the place, made Dalton's teeth clench in anger.

_He __**is**__ the king,_ he reminded himself.

The King looked up as Dalton entered. "Was there something you needed, Captain?" he asked as he accepted a cup of tea from one of his servants.

"Sire," the man began, "Uh, I had the mechanics run a diagnostic on the Blackbird today. There have been some…unusual noises coming from the engine, you see."

Melath looked bored. "And? Did they find anything of interest?"

"Um, just a few minor glitches," Dalton said carefully, and fluffed his long, blonde hair. "Something about the navigation controls being a little temperamental. They were unable to find the source of the clanging, but I'm sure it's nothing--"

"So what is your point, Captain?" Melath interrupted. He sipped his tea, seemed annoyed by the flavor, and then set the cup on the end table with enough force to slosh the contents over the rim. He looked quite cross. "Milk and lemon do not mix!"

The noble who had poured the tea hastened to get the king a fresh cup. "I'm so sorry!"

Dalton felt a dizzy sort of satisfaction at seeing someone else falling over themselves to escape the king's temper. To his credit, the noble just hissed and bit his lip when he accidentally spilled hot tea over his hand. The liquid must have been scalding, but he didn't drop the cup as he placed it beside Melath's chair.

The king tested it with a wary expression, and finally nodded. "Better." Turning his attention back to Dalton, he said, "This trivial discussion is delaying my departure, Captain. Tell me once and for all: is the Blackbird capable of flight? If it's not, I shall take the Skygates down to the Continent." His tone left no hint of doubt about how well Dalton would fare if he gave the wrong answer.

The warrior-wizard felt sweat gathering on the back of his neck. "I-I think everything is in order," he stammered.

"Are you certain?" Melath studied Dalton with a condescending smile. "Perhaps this job is too stressful for you. Shall I have Guru Belthasar relieve you of your command for this flight?"

Dalton flinched, panic filling his eyes. "That won't be necessary."

"Excellent." When Dalton hadn't immediately fled the room, Melath's eyebrows rose. "You're dismissed, Captain."

And that was that.

Dalton bowed again, backing out of the room. The door was firmly shut in his face by one of those contemptible aristocrats. No doubt they were already laughing about him. His hands were so tightly clenched by his sides that his fingers ached from the strain.

He took his time walking to the control room of the Blackbird. Crew members who came near him gave him a wide berth; one look at the smoldering hatred written on his face was enough to send them fleeing.

Taking a seat in the hard, metal Captain's chair, Dalton again yearned for the plush opulence of the King's quarters. "Get this tub in the air."

The crew members glanced at each other, then at the readouts on their screens as the Blackbird hummed to life.

"Navigations are down," someone said.

"Output at seventy-eight percent," another voiced chimed.

"Shut up, all of you!" Dalton slammed a fist down on the armrest of his seat. "Don't you get it? These are the King's orders. I don't care what it takes; just make this stupid thing fly!"

_I'd crash the damn thing myself, before I let you have it, _Belthasar had said.

As the Blackbird lurched into motion, disengaging from the dock, Dalton slumped in his seat. Clouds soon gave way to fierce winds and snow as they soared high above the frozen landscape of Terra Continent.

_I think I can kind of empathize with you, you old fart,_ Dalton thought to himself. _I'd rather crash than lose this, the only symbol of my power._

--

It began as a restless sort of feeling, which was why Schala didn't recognize it for what it was, at first. She found that she just couldn't keep still. No chair could hold her for more than a minute or two before her legs would start to tingle with the urge to _move_. So she paced about her step-mother's quarters, wringing her hands, unsure of exactly why she couldn't settle down.

The physicians had long since made the Queen as comfortable as they could and left. The maids had already stripped the bed of the blood-stained sheets and replaced them with new ones, so the staff had mostly cleared out as well. It was just her, Ardaria, two maids, and her as yet unnamed baby brother.

The young princess found herself standing beside the crib. She looked down at his tiny face, noting the smoky gray of his eyes. Schala didn't know much about babies, but she did know that the doctors had said his eyes would change to a different color as he got older.

_They're going to turn purple,_ she decided, as if willing it to be would actually make it happen.

"Miss, come away from there," called one of the remaining maids. When Schala didn't budge, she said, "The prince is being quiet. We don't want him to start crying and disturb her Majesty."

"He hasn't made a sound since he got here," Schala snapped back. "You're the one who's noisy. Besides, the doctors said they gave Mama medicine to make her sleepy." She looked at the queen. Ardaria was oblivious to the world at the moment, her ordeal and the medication putting her into a dreamless slumber.

"Even so, you should probably run along now, miss," the maid urged. "The sun is going down and dinner will be served in a bit. Why not go wash up?"

Schala twisted her hands around the cradle's bars, using them as an anchor to hold herself in one place. "Leave me alone."

The maid looked shocked by the princess's response. It was quite unlike Schala to behave rudely to anyone.

Schala couldn't bring herself to care about her bad behavior at the moment. This restlessness was beginning to bother her, and there was something wrong with her eyes. Darkness was seating at the edges of her vision, swallowing it up in an inky blackness. And then there was the noise; that incessant, whispering chatter that made no sense but throbbed in her skull like a bad headache.

Schala put a hand to her forehead and swayed on her feet. Distantly, she heard one of the maids call her name and felt the woman's arm wrap around her shoulders. For some reason, the princess found that she couldn't speak. She opened her mouth, but her words were swallowed up by the myriad of voices whispering in her head.

Just as the maid started to panic from Schala's unresponsive behavior, the baby, who up until now had barely uttered a whimper, began to scream.

Schala felt as if she were watching everything from under water. Reality became distorted in her perception, filled with ripples like invisible sea serpents slithering through the air. She felt the maid at her side shaking her, yelling in her ear, but her limbs refused to obey her. Her voice was swallowed up by the Black Wind, leaving her lips to flap uselessly.

Her baby brother was wailing.

_Does he hear it, too?_ Schala wondered. _Does he hear the voices, like me?_

Still clutching the crib's bars in her small hands, she held them in a white-knuckled grip. Her fingers began to ache, but it was okay. It meant that she hadn't fallen into the "bad place," the darkness and the whispering. She knew that in there, she wouldn't be able to feel anything anymore, and the voices would always be with her in her head.

The maid finally pried Schala's hands off of the crib and had to heft her bodily over to one of the chairs. The princess drew her knees to her chest under her long, baggy dress and cupped her hands over her ears.

"Make it stop!" she shouted, or tried to. All that came out of her mouth was a string of frightened squeals.

Things were spiraling out of control. While one of the maids tried to calm Schala, the other one went to the baby's crib in an effort to stem his bawling. The instant she reached for him, a blast of black energy ballooned outward from the cradle, tossing her through the air. She impacted against the far wall with a sickening thud. Her body slid down into a sitting position, leaving a bloody trail in its wake as her eyes stared unseeing into infinity.

The maid at Schala's side screamed.

The ruckus finally attracted the attention of royal guards who had been patrolling the hallway. Four armored men burst into the room. They surveyed the scene, taking in the dead maid, the wailing children, their drugged and comatose queen.

Schala couldn't hear anything beyond the whispering in her head as she watched one of the guardsmen begin to issue orders to his comrades. He pointed at her and the maid and made a curt motion. In seconds, the maid had hoisted Schala up and was running with her from the room.

--

The blizzard had turned out to be worse than expected. High winds buffeted the Blackbird like a cat with a piece of string. The ship bucked and dipped dangerously in the sky.

"How're we holding up?" Dalton asked. Then he muttered a curse as a sudden drop in altitude made his stomach rise to his chest.

"Not good, sir," one of the helmsmen replied. "With the navigations systems malfunctioning, we're flying blind in this storm."

Dalton looked out the large windows of the control room. All he could see was a wall of white. "Well, don't hit the floating mountain. It's big enough, so you should be able to see it long before you crash into it."

"I hope so, sir."

Dalton wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was starting to have misgivings about having tried to brave the storm for the sake of his pride. _Maybe I should have tried harder to change King Melath's mind about flying right now, at least until the mechanics could find the source of that banging sound._

Even now, he could hear it: a grinding, clanging noise echoing deep within the bowels of the Blackbird. It sounded like metal rubbing together, and loose parts shaking free.

Without warning, the internal lights of the Blackbird changed to an angry red and a siren started to blare.

"Just great," Dalton muttered, and rose from his seat. "What's the matter now?"

For a moment, there was silence save for the blaring warning signal and the clacking of many hands typing at their control panels.

"Systems not responding!" one of the helmsmen shouted. "They've frozen up."

Dalton balled up a fist and shook it in the man's direction. "Then fix it, you idiot!"

"I can't, sir. We'd have to reboot the systems, and we can't do that while flying!"

"Then land this tub before we all-"

A loud explosion rocked the Blackbird, throwing Dalton back into his seat. Pushing disheveled strands of his long hair out of his reddened face, the warrior-wizard pounded the armrest. "Someone get things in order here, and I mean now!"

"Fires have broken out all over the ship!" someone yelled back. "One of the fuel lines exploded near the back."

"Stabilizers are malfunctioning! We're losing altitude!"

"We're gonna crash!"

Dalton heard the words of his panicked crew, but he barely registered them.

The Blackbird's nose dipped, and everyone had to grab on to something to avoid sliding forward. Snow splattered against the glass of the cockpit window, blocking the rising ground from their view.

Dalton's feet slipped against the metal floor, even as he used the armrests of his seat to keep himself in place. Gravity was pulling him down towards the front of the plane, but if he were going to die, it wouldn't be smashed against the glass like the worthless crew members. No, they'd find his body- if they _did_ find his body- sitting in the captain's chair. Then, no one could say that he hadn't been at his post.

Despite his imminent doom, Dalton found himself strangely calm. His fate was now in the hands of something much larger than himself.

_Still,_ he thought, _I can't believe it's all going to end like this. My glorious career was just beginning! I'm too young and beautiful to die!_

As the frozen landscape of Terra Continent grew closer and closer, he closed his eyes and braced for the impact that would most likely snap his neck.

--

"Where are the Gurus?!"

Melchior laid down his cards—a winning hand, much to the chagrin of his friends—and looked to see what all the commotion was about. When he saw it was a panicked guardsman, he waved a hand above his head.

"Over here, man," he called. "What seems to be the trouble?"

The guard sped over and managed to get off a passable salute. It was clear that he'd been running. "It's the royal children," he wheezed, trying to find air enough for the words. "Something happened. I'm not sure what. All I know is that by the time we got to the Queen's chambers, Princess Schala and her brother, the new prince, were screaming. There had been an accident involving one of the servant girls which cost her her life. And now there's some sort of strange magic around the prince's crib that none of us can get through. We need your help!"

The three Gurus looked at each other with grave expressions.

"Will you come?" the guard begged.

Gaspar nodded. "Of course we will." As he helped Belthasar to his feet, he asked, "What about the Queen?"

"She's been moved to a safer location in the King's quarters down the hall."

"I'm sure Melath will just love that," Melchior muttered under his breath.

Gaspar gave him a sharp look, then turned back to the guard. "And Princess Schala?"

"She was hysterical when we had her removed from the room. One of the Queen's maids is with her, but I'm not sure where she was taken."

Gaspar nodded. "Thank you. Let us hope she was taken somewhere out of harm's way."

The guard led them to the royal quarters, even though they had been there many times and knew the way by heart.

When they reached the doorway to the Queen's apartments, Melchior regarded the bassinet in horror. A barrier of negative energy was growing around it, the magical lines supporting it growing stronger by the second. If left unchecked, it would keep getting bigger and more powerful until it exploded.

Without wasting a second, Gaspar shoved his hands out towards the crib, focusing his magical powers against that of the infant. A flash of light caused the assembled men to see stars as the two powers collided, but it did nothing to lessen the growing sphere of darkness.

"You'd best get away from here," the Guru of Life murmured. "And move the Queen to the other side of the palace as quickly as possible." When the guard hesitated, he gave the man an angry shove. "Go!"

"I can't believe the prince is making that thing," Gaspar gasped beside him as the guard turned and ran to execute his duties. "A baby simply doesn't have the magical ability to create a spell as complex as a shadow barrier!"

"Believe what you will," Belthasar began, "but right now, our attention should be focused on stopping the prince before he blows up the royal wing of the palace, and us along with it."

Melchior nodded. "I agree. So, what should we do?" He watched as Belthasar started to roll up his sleeves.

"We'll just have to fight magic with magic."

"We tried that already!" Gaspar said impatiently. "Don't you have any other ideas?"

"No, _you_ tried it," the Guru of Reason replied, unflustered. "And you were repelled because your magic alone isn't enough to stop him. I have a theory: if we combine our magical energy, maybe it will be enough to dissipate, or at least counter, the prince's barrier."

"And if it doesn't work?" Gaspar demanded. "Do you have a backup plan?"

His friend shook his head. "By then, it won't matter. Our powers will be completely drained, and we'll be too exhausted to care. We could never outrun the explosion, anyway."

There wasn't anything anyone could say to the finality of that, so they took their positions without further words and began to draw upon their powers.

Stretching their hands out from their bodies, lines of glowing energy began to form between them. Gaspar's energies were a warm green. Belthasar's, a calm, soft blue. Melchior's magical energies were the crimson color of Dreamstone. The Guru's powers stretched out towards each other, forming a triangle of multicolored light around the blue-black boil that was the prince's creation.

They braced themselves, spreading their feet apart to hold their positions as the shadow barrier began to press against their own. Each man had to fight to remain steady as the prince's power hit theirs with the force of a charging beast. The negative energy battered at them, beginning to break through.

"It's too powerful!" Gaspar staggered and shook his head to clear it, striving for the concentration to hold onto their spell. "We can't win!"

"Give it your all!" Belthasar shouted back. His face was a ghastly grayish white from the strain. "We can do it!"

"I…can't!"

Gaspar sent one last surge of energy into the spell before he fell to his knees, spent. Their barrier fizzled and died as it lost one third of the power supporting it. The resulting backlash of magic caused Melchior and Belthasar to cry out in pain as their very psyches absorbed the remaining energy in the form of a sudden, excruciating headache.

The shadow barrier was now almost as big as the room. Already, it had crushed chairs, tables, and the Queen's empty bed.

"There's nothing left that we can do," Melchior panted, placing his hands on his knees in order to catch his breath. He glared helplessly at the screaming baby. "He sure does have a set of lungs, that one."

"Too bad no one put a pillow over his face when they had the chance," Belthasar wheezed. He had one hand clawing at the front of his shirt, the other resting on his faithful Nu for support. "Blasted child… Someone ought to have-" His eyes rolled up into his head, and he began to slump to the floor.

"Belthasar!" Melchior rushed to his side, catching his longtime friend and easing him to the floor.

The old man's breathing was shallow. His face was pinched in pain, lips turning faintly purple.

Melchior cursed. "Gaspar, help me get him out of here. He needs help, fast!"

"It's too late," the Guru of Time muttered. The shadow barrier was almost on top of them. A few more seconds, and they would be flattened into paste against the wall.

"Stop it!"

The two conscious Gurus looked to the door in shock. There stood Schala. Her face was tear-streaked and frightened, but there was a determined gleam in her lavender eyes.

"No, Princess!" Melchior shouted. "Get away from here! This whole place is about to be destroyed."

"Do as he says, Schala!" Gaspar added. "It's much too dangerous for you to be here." He gulped and scrambled away from the edge of the barrier as it almost touched his outstretched foot. There wasn't much room left to hide in.

"No! I've got to save my baby brother!" For a moment, Schala looked much older than her eight years. "I'm going to stop this." She raised her arms out in front of her, ready to push her way through the shadow barrier.

Melchior waited for the inevitable. He could already see it; Schala's frail little body would be tossed backwards like the unfortunate maid, every bone breaking like so many dried twigs as she hit the wall with lethal force.

But an odd thing happened. Schala grimaced as her fingers brushed the barrier, but she didn't let that stop her. Obviously in pain, she pressed onwards, fully touching the barrier than walking _into_ it. Though each step wrung a whimper from her throat, she forced one foot in front of the other until she was standing at the side of her brother's crib. She had to stand on her tiptoes, but she managed to reach inside and pull the screaming infant into her arms.

"It's okay now," she sobbed into the soft swaddling that surrounded the prince. "Please don't cry anymore. You're safe. I'm with you, Janus."

"I've got to try and get her our of there." Melchior tried to hand off Belthasar to Gaspar, but the Time Guru shook his head in awe.

"No, wait! I think it's working!"

The barrier's growth had ceased, mere inches from them. Even as they watched, it started shrinking in size until it evaporated altogether. Sitting in the demolished room, the two men looked at each other, speechless.

The baby's crying wound down into pitiful sniffles as Schala cooed at him and gently bounced him in her arms. She looked wan and pale, but there was something serene about her as she bravely put on a smile for her brother.

"It's over." Melchior breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are we…dead?"

The Guru of Life sighed in relief and then smiled down at Belthasar. His friend's voice was faint, and his breathing still shaky, but at least he had regained consciousness. "Not yet, old man. Though I thought for sure you'd left us, back there."

Using what little magical power he could muster, he placed his hands over Belthasar's chest and focused his thoughts. Though called the Guru of Life, he was not fully trained in the art of healing magic. He did what he could to ease any pain his friend was feeling, and to help him relax, but Belthasar would still need to see a physician immediately.

Belthasar began to breathe a bit easier. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he joked, before starting to cough.

Melchior helped him get to his feet, holding one of Belthasar's arms around his neck, the other around his waist to support him. "Come on. We need to get you out of here." Melchior looked to Gaspar. "Bring the princess, and let's go." Without waiting for them to follow, he led Belthasar out the door.

Gaspar, who had been staring at Schala wordlessly for the past few moments, shook himself from his thoughts. "Oh, right." He walked up to her and knelt down beside her. "Are you all right?"

She looked at him from over the baby's shoulder and nodded. "I think so. It really hurt, but I made it through."

"You're a brave little girl. Not even we, the Gurus, could do what you did."

She shuffled her feet, and moved her gaze to the floor. "I ran away from the maids. Something was telling me I had to come here. I didn't mean to disobey. Will I get punished?"

Gaspar gaped at her words, then burst out laughing. "Child, you saved not only us, but the palace and your baby brother as well." When she continued to look at the floor, he shook his head. "No, my dear, you won't be punished. On the contrary, I have to thank you on all our behalf."

She smiled at him then. "You're nice. You're my favorite teacher."

Gaspar laughed again. "Thank you. But don't tell that to Melchior and Belthasar, okay? Their feelings will be hurt if you do."

"Okay. I won't. It'll be our secret. Yours, mine, and Janus's."

Gaspar froze, his good humor drying up. "What did you say?"

Schala's smile faded at his seriousness. "Um…can't it be our secret?"

"No, not that. I meant, what did you call him?"

"Janus."

"Where did you hear that word?"

The princess's lavender eyes darkened. "The Black Wind said it. I could never understand it before. It sounded like made-up words. But when I picked him up, I could tell what it was saying. It kept saying 'Janus.' I thought that it was saying his name. Was I wrong?"

Gaspar swallowed to wet his dry mouth. "We'd, um… We'd better not dally too long here or else Melchior might get worried about us. Let's catch up with him, shall we?"

Schala nodded and hugged the baby, Janus, closer to her. Together, they left the room and the destruction it contained behind them.

--

An emergency meeting of the Grand Council had been called following the news of the newborn prince's unexpected and unwelcome use of shadow magic. The six members--five men and one woman--were all elected based on their social standing, political backing, and magic prowess.

In theory, they were advisors to the monarchy, but in reality, they were almost as instrumental in ruling the kingdom as the royalty were. They were the voice of the everyman, keeping the balance of power from tilting too much in the monarchy's favor; a wise ruler knew the value of working with the Grand Council rather than against them. No one wanted to be labeled a tyrant and dethroned.

The council members sat around a crescent-shaped table. They looked down their noses at Melchior and Gaspar with identical expressions of fear and anger.

"Almost destroying the royal wing of the palace and the Queen along with it… Insufferable! That child is far too dangerous to be allowed to live!"

Melchior glared at the speaker, an officious man by the name of Hydgal. "So what do you suggest we do? Drown him?"

"He's not a monster," Gaspar chimed in. "He's the royal heir to the throne of Zeal. You can't just toss him aside like so much trash. Without him, the royal bloodline is in danger of being snuffed out."

"A minor setback. Should King Melath fail to sire another male child, there is still Schala. The Grand Council will select a suitable husband from amongst the Enlightened and the monarchy will be secure."

Melchior shook his head in disgust. "And I'm sure you wouldn't mind being the one to warm the royal bed once the time came, would you, Hydgal? I imagine that being the royal consort and using her Highness as a puppet ruler would delight you to no end, wouldn't it?"

"You overstep yourself, Guru! Remember to whom you speak. The Grand Council has the power to decide _your_ fate as well!"

Gaspar stepped in before things spiraled out of control. "Let's get back to the issue at hand. We're talking about the fate of one of the royal children."

With effort, the two men regained their composure. Melchior and Hydgal had hated each other for as long as anyone could remember, and their feud had degenerated into blows and shows of magic in the past. The last thing anyone needed was for a fight to break out in the middle of the council room.

"He's just an infant," the Guru of Life insisted stubbornly.

Hydgal waved a dismissive hand. "One who could unleash another devastating energy bomb at any second! We were lucky that you were able to stop it…this time. But what about in the future? Guru Belthasar has already sustained a heart-attack because of this escapade. Who's to say that you won't be the next to fall? Or you, Guru Gaspar? If your powers could barely contain the prince, then the general populace cannot rely on the famed Gurus to save them if the need should arise again."

Melchior and Gaspar fumed in silence. They had agreed to keep Schala's name out of things. Not only would it bode ill that the eldest child of the royal family had thrown herself into harm's way, but the fact that it had been a mere slip of a girl who had averted the near catastrophe, and not a Guru, could end all of their careers.

Hydgal looked pleased with himself. "Your silence indicates that you're considering the wisdom of my words. I'm glad."

But Melchior shook his head. "As the Guru of Life, what you're saying goes against everything I uphold. I respect the Council's decision in most things, but not in this. What you're suggesting is dangerously close to treason. I serve the will of their Majesties. I highly doubt that Queen Zeal will let you wrest her precious son away from her just because of what he _might_ do in the future."

"The monarchy will bow to the will of the Grand Council if the need be dire enough, which I believe it is."

"And you would stake your life on that? Because should you turn out to be wrong, you will be exiled to the floating mountain, there to suffer your last days alone in the freezing cold."

"Spare me the false concern, Guru Melchior. Will you or will you not do as the Grand Council has ordered?"

"I will take no part in it. Life is a sacred commodity, perhaps one that we have forgotten in our bids for power to revere."

Hydgal sneered. "That's a typical response coming from the likes of you. You always were too soft when it came to important matters like these." He jerked his chin at Gaspar. "Don't tell me you're as stubborn as your friend?"

Gaspar twisted his mustache and winked. "I'm afraid that's the case. So sorry." Looking at the rest of the Council, he asked, "Do the rest of you share Hydgal's bloodthirsty opinions?"

Lady Izle fidgeted with one of the elaborate cuff bracelets she wore. "It's not that we wish more blood to be spilt," she said. "But you must realize the danger we're all in so long as the babe draws breath. He poses a threat to every living being on the continent. In the absence of the King, and because her Majesty is indisposed, we are shouldering the burden of making this choice. It's for the good of Zeal Kingdom."

"You can't just go around passing judgment in such a manner," Melchior replied coldly. "Capital punishment is reserved only for those who have committed atrocities or acts too horrible to describe. I have seen no evidence of such a crime."

Hydgal snorted. "You don't think that nearly blowing us all out of the sky is an act worthy of severe punishment?"

"With all due respect, Lord Hydgal, what I think is that you and your respective council members should pull your heads out of your rectums and try to see the situation clearly."

As could be expected, the room erupted with outraged shouting. Gaspar closed his eyes and fervently wished for his pipe. Sometimes, Melchior had no tact.

"We're talking about a newborn, here," the Guru of Life continued, fighting the surge of rising voices to be heard. "He's not some hardened criminal, or raving madman bent on destroying the kingdom. He's an untrained infant who lashed out unknowingly. He has strong magical abilities that surpass anything I have seen displayed by many of my greatest students. It's not his fault that he doesn't know how to control them yet."

Hydgal waved a bony hand. "Untrained and unpredictable. Shall we all just wait and twiddle our thumbs until the prince decides to throw another tantrum? Left unfettered, we might as well spare him the trouble and toss ourselves off the edge of the floating continent."

"What if his powers weren't unfettered?" Gaspar suggested suddenly.

Lady Izle fixed him with her gray eyes. "You have an alternative solution?"

Hydgal leaned his cheek into one hand, a bored look resting on his thin, sharp features. "This should be interesting."

Gaspar ignored him and continued speaking to Izle. "What if we could place a limiter on the child's powers? If he can't access his magic, he won't be a danger any more. Once he's old enough to be trained, we could release the limiter, and--"

"No! That is out of the question!"

Everyone stared at Hydgal. He'd slammed a fist down on the tabletop to emphasize his words.

"One near miss is enough to convince me that the child can _never_ be trusted with these powers. If his abilities are to be sealed, then let it be done in such a way that he can never again access them."

Melchior clenched his fists. "That's barbaric! If he's trained, the child will be able to control his powers and won't be a danger to anyone. What you're suggesting is heinous!"

"If I had my way, the whelp wouldn't live to see tomorrow's sunrise! But if mercy is what you're asking from me, then so be it. The child lives, but without the use of his powers."

Izle tried to lay a restraining hand on Hydgal's arm, but he jerked away with such vehemence that he bumped into the councilman seated on the other side of him.

Melchior shook his head. "Without his power, the young prince will never be considered a true Enlightened. He'll be a pariah. It's too cruel, even for you, Hydgal."

The two men glared at each other, refusing to budge an inch.

"If death is too hard for you to stomach, then let him be outcast. The choice is yours, Guru. Do as your conscience dictates." The last part was said dripping with scorn. "Whichever you choose, you have until sunrise tomorrow to carry out the sentence. Such is the will of the Grand Council!"


	2. A Prince Is Born, Part 2

**The Story of Magus**

A Prince is Born, Part 2

By ZealPropht

Dalton was cold.

He tried to move, and that turned out to be a big mistake. Pain radiated through his limbs and through his face. He choked on a sob and decided that he really didn't want to go anywhere, not when it hurt this much, even if he were freezing.

Something soft and wet was settling on his upturned face. Snow.

He had to see what was going on.

His right eye refused to open, but after a while, he managed to get the gummy left one to unseal. His vision was blurred, not just from melting snow but from the sticky mess of blood that had caked over the right side of his face and dripped across the left.

He was laying on his back. The sky was dark gray with the approaching night. Soon, it would be too dark to see. Steel beams were half covering him, pinning down his legs and part of his midsection. He was also covered in glass and a thin layer of snow.

Turning his head, he almost screamed. One of his crewmen was laying beside him, shredded until almost unrecognizable by the glass shrapnel. The dead man's eyes were wide with horror. What had he seen in the last minutes before the Blackbird had crashed? His own life flashing by before him?

Dalton swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

_At least that's not me,_ he thought, and turned away.

Now that he was able to see, he was also able to better take stock of his situation. If he could get the beams off of himself, maybe he could crawl out of the wreckage and find help.

Moving was sheer torture, an exercise in withstanding pain. He tried not to cry at the effort as he squirmed, wiggled, and finally managed to drag himself free.

_I just want to die. _Gritting his teeth, he sucked in ragged breaths that only made him feel worse. _Please, just make it all stop hurting…_

But it didn't stop, and he didn't _really_ want to die, not all alone on the windy, snowy landscape. So when the pain was manageable again, he rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. From there, he used the debris from the Blackbird to get to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, and putting too much weight on the right one nearly caused it to buckle out from under him.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Dalton wondered if there were other survivors besides himself.

The last thing he remembered was trying to cast some sort of shielding spell. He had assumed it would be useless in saving his life, but he wanted to leave behind a beautiful corpse. Concentration on the spell had been near impossible, but whatever magic Dalton had been able to pull off seemed to have been more effective than he'd first imagined. It obviously hadn't worked as well as he might have hoped; he was still injured, after all. But that was nothing compared to being one of the many dead bodies littering the area.

A sound caught his attention. At first, he thought it was just the ever-present wind, but after he heard it a second time, he realized that it was a human voice weakly calling for help.

It took a few moments of searching, but he finally found the survivor. It was King Melath. He was impaled through the stomach by a sharp piece of metal. The snowy ground around him was almost black with blood, and his hands pitifully pushed at the foreign object lodged through his midsection.

Dalton approached him. "Your Majesty."

Melath's head didn't turn so much as twitched to look at him. "C-Captain…"

There really wasn't anything Dalton could do. He was no healer, but even he could tell that the wound was fatal. Part of him felt sorry for the poor bastard. Still, it was Melath's fault for dragging him out here. If he hadn't insisted on flying to Terra Continent, none of them would have ended up in this situation.

"H-Help…me…" Melath pleaded. The man's skin was almost the same color as the falling snow, marred by the thick stream of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were wide but unfocused; already the glaze of death was stealing away their light. He stretched out a trembling hand in supplication. "Please…"

Dalton considered the king for a moment. The metal bar had passed clean through his midsection and was lodged perhaps a foot deep into the ground on the other side of his body. Even if he had the right tools, which he didn't, Dalton wasn't about to waste vital energy trying to save a dying man.

"Please…" Melath choked out again. Then, as if he somehow knew that wouldn't be enough to sway the captain's mind, he added, "For Zeal…"

"Zeal?" Dalton snorted. "Don't make me laugh. The kingdom won't collapse without you, and you're as good as dead, anyway. Maybe you should make peace with the spirits before the Black Wind comes to take your soul to its final reward."

Their eyes met for a second, and Dalton thought he might have seen something of Melath's old fire. The king opened his mouth as if to say something, maybe give a final order or to curse his disloyal captain, but all that came out was a frothy gurgle and more blood.

Dalton felt queasy and turned away from the sight. He forced his near-frozen feet to keep moving. He couldn't afford to lose what was left of the daylight.

Behind him, he heard Melath coughing on his own vital fluids, calling out for Valeya, his dearly departed first wife. Maybe he really _was _making his peace_. _Then the wind picked up and anything else said was lost under the noise.

Dalton thought perhaps he should have felt guilty for leaving his king to die alone, pinned to the ground like a broken butterfly. But right now, it was survival of the fittest. There was only one person Dalton cared to save, and that was himself.

The trouble was, it was getting dark and the temperature was dropping. Even though the snow was falling lightly now, there would be no telling when it would pick up again. The best he could hope for would be to take shelter somewhere for the night and try to survive until morning.

After wandering around the wreckage site for about another fifteen minutes, Dalton was seriously tempted to just give up and let the cold lull him into that final, dreamless slumber. But as luck would have it, just as the snow started to pick up again, he came across the perfect find. Part of one of the cargo holds was still intact. The wooden crates that held supplies for the crew and passengers had broken open. Food, blankets, and other amenities were strewn about. The majority of it was unusable due to laying in the snow.

Dalton made his way as far back into the damaged hold as he could to avoid the worst of the blowing snow and wind. The broken boxes were a convenient fuel source; he expended a little of his flagging strength to set them on fire with his magic. Then, using whatever was dry around him, he made a little nest for himself.

Snuggled down amid a pile of blankets and cushioned life preservers, with an acrid fire to help keep him from freezing to death, the warrior-wizard felt his one working eye growing heavy. The whole ordeal had taken a supreme amount of energy, and even he was amazed at his own fortitude to have lasted so long.

_I'm the great Captain Dalton!_ he thought sleepily to himself. _No stupid crash is going to get the better of me. _

But damn, he was in pain! If only he'd been able to find some medication amongst the supplies, then maybe he could have rested a bit more comfortably. As it was, all he'd managed to scrounge up were some salted nuts, some crackers, and a bottle of cheap wine. He was sure that there was better food in the refrigerated section of the cargo holds, but this would work for now. Besides, the alcohol was taking the edge off the pain, even if it didn't eliminate it completely.

He heaved a resounding burp, slouched deeper into the blankets, and let the wine do its work. The snowstorm was back to blowing full force outside Dalton's shelter, but he was oblivious to it. He'd already passed out from fatigue.

* * *

Lying in his crib, the newborn prince looked the same as any other baby the Gurus had seen. He was sleeping on his stomach, little hands fisting the soft blanket under him. He didn't look like a threat to anyone.

"So why must he be treated like a monster?" Melchior growled out loud, though he kept his voice low. "That bastard, Hydgal! I'd love to wring the man's neck! It's bad enough to be forced to do what he's asking of us, but to treat the prince like some sort of criminal is idiotic. He's an _infant_, for goodness sakes!"

The prince had been moved under armed escort to a magic-shielded holding cell in Kajar. With so many trained Enlightened about, it was hoped that another crisis might be averted should it arise. Gaspar and Melchior had accompanied the guards and assumed personal responsibility over the baby once they'd arrived. Two cots had been placed in the room along with the crib so that the men could monitor the prince constantly, and rest after their sealing of the infant's magic powers.

Gaspar pulled the stem of his pipe from between his lips. "Hydgal's a cold-hearted beast who cares for nothing beyond his own personal gain. But he _was_ elected by the people. He 'gets the job done', or so went his campaign slogan."

The Guru of Life sighed and passed his hands over his eyes. More than ever, he felt old. "Has anyone been able to contact the King?"

"Communications with the Blackbird have gone silent. Balthazar might have known what was going on but…"

"But he's not here," Melchior finished.

Gaspar shrugged and put his pipe back into his mouth. "That ass, Dalton, is the one in charge of the Blackbird right now. He may just not want to talk to anyone."

"You could be right." Melchior reached down and picked up the single gift that had been given the new prince, a musical Poyozo doll, which he activated by twisting the key sticking out of its back. A gentle melody filled the small room. "So, what's the plan?"

Gaspar shuffled his feet. "Don't look at me. I'm just here for moral support."

But his friend shook his head. "Don't give me that. I know you too well to believe that you're just going to let the Grand Council have their way."

"If we defy them, we could both end up in ice," Gaspar warned.

"Sometimes you have to take risks in order to do what's right. I'm not afraid of the consequences. I'm ready to help out in any way I can."

"Well, I've been giving some thought as to the best way to seal the child's powers."

Melchior gaped at him. "But that's exactly what Hydgal wants!"

"The idea offends me even more than it does you," Gaspar snapped back. "But what other choice do we have? If Hydgal isn't appeased, he'll rally the rest of the Grand Council and they _will_ sentence the prince to death!"

"But to deny him his magic means-"

"I know. Which is why we have to make it _appear_ as though we've sealed his powers without actually doing so." Holding the pipe stem between his teeth, Gaspar rolled up his sleeves. "This is going to take some finagling of the most delicate nature, but between the two of us, I think we might be able to pull it off."

A little more relieved now that he knew Gaspar's plan, Melchior rolled up his sleeves as well. "Just let me know what you want me to do."

"We have to place a formal limiter on the prince's powers. Think of it like the ribbon on a present. When tied, the ribbon will hold the package closed. However, tug the ends a little and the central knot will begin to loosen. If we can make a limiter that we can tighten and loosen at will, without Hydgal suspecting it, over the years we could train the prince in secret."

Melchior nodded enthusiastically. "That's a superb idea, my friend!"

"And when he's old enough to take the throne, we can undo the limiter and present the people with a strong ruler who is in full control of his magic. Hopefully, Hydgal will have been voted off the Grand Council by then."

"Even if he hasn't, it will be too late for him to do anything against us. Besides, these next several years of secrecy will be worth it if it means seeing the look on that bastard's face when he realizes we've outsmarted him."

The two Gurus shared a chuckle at the prospect.

With only the music from the toy to be heard, the old men gathered their energies. Neither felt at full capacity, having spent the majority of their powers to subdue the infant the first time. But this was a different sort of magic all together, and required a different sort of mental manipulation. Gaspar felt confident that between the two of them, they could achieve the desired result without draining their psyches more than they already had.

"Remember," he cautioned his friend. "Like a ribbon, not a sealed box." He waited for Melchior's nod of acknowledgement before they set to work.

By the time they were finished, the Poyozo doll had long since wound down. The infant prince made a little noise in his sleep and twitched. Melchior wearily picked up the toy again and twisted the key until it began playing.

Gaspar settled himself into a chair with a groan and started to light up his pipe.

"You really shouldn't smoke around the baby," the Guru of Life admonished. "It's bad for his health."

"I suppose you're right, dash it all." Gaspar sucked on the end of the pipe anyway, as if the mere act was enough to give him his fix. "What do you think?"

The other man shrugged. "I think it'll work, at least for the moment. Let's just hope that Hydgal doesn't inspect the limiter too thoroughly. It might be a little difficult to explain away a few things, should he get suspicious."

Almost every Zealian had the ability to sense magic, be it in other people or objects. The Guru's limiter indeed suppressed the prince's powers, but the aura of energy it gave off was intentionally misleading. A casual inspection would turn up nothing more than the faintest of power signatures and would hopefully be enough to convince Hydgal that the prince was no longer a threat. However, a serious examination would reveal several "weak spots" where they could temporarily release small quantities of magic in order to train the boy as he grew.

"Let's just hope that Hydgal remains as pompous as ever and can't be bothered with anything besides a cursory inspection of our work," Gaspar concluded while Melchior took the seat opposite his friend. "You know, it's amazing."

"What is?"

"This whole ordeal we're in. Lying to the Grand Council for the sake of a child who almost got us killed."

"It's the right thing to do. My conscience couldn't take it if we let them have their way and seal up the babe's powers for good."

"I'm not arguing with that," Gaspar hastened to assure him. "Hydgal's suggestion is repulsive, to say the least. I just meant that we're risking an awful lot for this boy. Not just our positions, but our lives. I hope he grows up into the sort of man who makes this deception worthwhile."

Melchior chuckled. "You think he won't? He has the noble blood of Zeal coursing through his veins, and more magical potential than I've seen in ages. If he's even the slightest bit like his sister in temperament, we could have the makings of a fine new king. Besides, he'll have the three best tutors in the kingdom to help him, when the time comes. I don't foresee any more setbacks that we can't overcome, can you?"

"There's something I think you should know," Gaspar said suddenly.

Melchior was taken aback by his friend's dark tone. "What's wrong?"

The Guru of Time scratched his chin with one hand and played with his unlit pipe with the other. "After the incident in the Queen's quarters, Princess Schala said something…unusual. I'm sure you're aware of her Highness's sensitivity to the Black Wind?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, she said that she heard something being whispered. She thought it was the prince's name." Gaspar licked his lips and glanced nervously towards the crib. "She heard the word 'janus.' Obviously, she didn't know what it means, but…"

Melchior went pale. "Janus? Are you sure?" When Gaspar nodded, he let out a slow breath. "In the old language, that word was taboo. It meant 'death and destruction.' To speak of it was to invite misfortune into your home."

"Queen Zeal's hard labor, the still-born second prince, the near explosion…"

"You think it has something to do with the prince's birth?"

"Don't look at me like that. I feel terrible for thinking this way. But it can't just be a string of unfortunate coincidences, can it? For all the effort we're putting into saving this child's life, the truth of the matter might be that-" He stopped, unable to continue for a moment. Then in a rush, he blurted, "Maybe we'll all be better off if we _do_ let Hydgal have his way."

"What are you saying? That the Black Wind marked this child as cursed?" Melchior shook his head. "That's superstitious nonsense, Gaspar! What would Belthasar say if he heard you talking like this? I refuse to believe that a life, any life, could come into this world bearing such a heavy burden."

Gaspar nodded, but didn't say anything further. He couldn't. Melchior took such matters very personally. He believed that each individual chose his or her own path in life. Preordained destinies and Fate were flights of fantasy, in his opinion, and his teachings as a Guru directly scorned such ideas. Gaspar, on the other hand, wasn't so sure.

A knock came at the door.

The two men looked at each other. They'd left the guards with specific instructions not to bother them, just in case they needed to devote their entire concentration to the casting of their spells. For someone to be willing to interrupt their solitude, it must have been an urgent matter indeed.

Melchior got to his feet and opened the door. "Yes?"

A pale and shaking guard stood before him. "I'm sorry to bother you, Guru Melchior," he began. "I know you wished not to be disturbed. I wouldn't have come, except no one was sure if you'd been informed yet…"

"Easy, man," Melchior soothed, though his innards were churning. What had gone wrong this time? "Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."

The guard struggled to regain his composure. "It's the Blackbird. We fear the storm may have caused it to crash. There have been some reports sent up from the outposts on Terra Continent that indicate a large explosion took place sometime before sunset."

Melchior gripped the door frame on either side to keep himself steady. "Are you sure about this?"

"It's not that difficult a flight between Zeal Kingdom and Terra Continent. His Majesty should have arrived by now, yet no word has been received. All attempts to contact the Blackbird have failed, and no one from the Earthbound colonies has seen the King or Captain Dalton."

Behind Melchior, Gaspar made a strangled noise and jumped to his feet. "Impossible! The Blackbird is a model of state-of-the-art technology crafted by the Guru of Reason himself! Something as insignificant as a snowstorm could never bring it down."

"I hope that's the case," the guard replied somberly. "Until the storm lets up, we can't send anyone from Zeal to investigate. The sky gates can't make a connection with each other in that sort of weather."

Melchior shook his head. "Let's not consider the worst case scenario just yet. Even if there were some sort of malfunction, perhaps they were able to make an emergency landing somewhere. We won't know anything until a search party is dispatched."

"Can't anyone from one of the outposts do something in the meantime?" Gaspar demanded. "Are we really so helpless?"

The guard looked down. "Even if someone were to be sent from an outpost, the blizzard would make it far to dangerous. It would be too easy to get lost in the snow. A man could freeze to death mere feet from the ones he'd been sent to save and neither side would ever know it until morning. The best we can hope for is to launch a recovery team the moment the storm clears up. I'm sorry, but it's all we can do for now."

Gaspar turned away with a sound of frustration.

"Thank you for the news," Melchior said calmly, though he felt about as upset as Gaspar was acting. "Keep us updated, would you?"

"Of course, sir."

When the guard had gone, Melchior resealed the door and approached his friend. He laid a hand on Gaspar's shoulder, unsurprised by how tense he was. "Worrying about it will only make you sick."

"How can I _not_ be worried?" came the thick reply. "If Melath really is dead-"

"Stop it!" Melchior spun Gaspar around to face him, gripping his friend's upper arms tightly. "Don't start jumping to conclusions. We don't know anything for certain yet." He let his hands fall away only to pass them over his face with a sigh. "It's getting late. We should try to get some sleep before we have to face the Grand Council again."

Gaspar glared as Melchior moved toward one of the cots. "How can you sleep at a time like this?"

"Because I'm tired, and worried, and just as frustrated about our inability to do anything as you are. In a few short hours, the fate of our entire kingdom may be thrown into jeopardy. Our ruse might be discovered, an innocent babe might be executed, and a throne might stand empty. We'll need our wits about us, and we can't be at the top of our game if we're falling asleep on our feet. It's for the good of the kingdom, as well as ourselves, if we take this chance while we have it to rest and recover our strength."

"Dash it all, but I hate it when you're right." Gaspar regarded the pipe in his hand, then held it up. "I need a smoke before bed, though."

Melchior waved him off with one hand while removing his boots with the other. "Whatever it takes to ease your nerves, old friend."

He didn't watch while Gaspar left the room, but once he was gone, the Guru of Life looked over at the crib where the infant prince still lay sleeping.

_Janus. Death and destruction._

He shook his head. It had to be a coincidence. It _had_ to be!

* * *

The next morning was just as cold and bleak as any other morning on Terra Continent. The sun didn't penetrate the thick layer of clouds so much as turn them to a lighter shade of gray. Snow still sprinkled down. It wasn't nearly as dense as it had been the previous evening, but it still made seeing beyond a few feet difficult.

When Dalton emerged from his shelter, he gave the weather a look of disgust. How he hated the cold! At least his wounds had woken him up every few hours during the night. Otherwise, he might have ignored feeding the fire and frozen to death in his sleep.

Under one arm he'd fashioned a make-shift crutch out of some of the broken metal laying about, and padded it with torn strips of fabric from one of the blankets. He had three others swaddled around his body to help with the chill, but soon they'd become wet with snow and wouldn't be of much use. Still, they were better than nothing; he hadn't exactly worn clothing that was appropriate for hiking about in the snow.

_If I'd known I was going to wind up in freezing temperatures, I would have worn some long pants._

But there was no way he could have known, so griping about it wasn't helping him any. The best he could hope for now would be to strike out for the Earthbound Colonies. It was better than sitting around, hoping to be rescued. And besides, at least the caves would be warmer.

Wading through the snow was difficult and slow, but his progress was much better than it had been. Using the crutch, Dalton was able to avoid putting weight on his injured leg so he hobbled much faster than before.

The broken metal jutting out of the fresh blanket of snow reminded him that somewhere, hidden from his eyes, was the frozen corpse of the king. He shivered, and not entirely from the cold.

Now that he'd had some time to think about it, Dalton wondered if it might not have been preferable to at least attempt to save Melath after all. It wouldn't have done any good in the end, but it would have made Dalton look better when he returned to Zeal Kingdom; the brave, wounded captain who risked his own life to lay to rest his fallen liege. When they dug his body out from the snow, the rescue team would have seen that Dalton had laid Melath in state, and the captain would have looked like a noble servant. He might have even earned a medal for his valor.

Just thinking about the missed opportunity pissed him off.

His toe caught on something buried under the snow. It caused him to stumble and sprawl face first. He cursed and spat out some snow that had gotten into his mouth, wiping gingerly at his eye with the back of an arm that wasn't much drier.

Sticking out of the snow, still caught on the end of his foot, was the royal crown of Zeal.

It took a couple of painful tries, but Dalton managed to get back to his feet. He picked up the crown and glared at the bloodstained surface. Maybe it was Melath's spiteful little way of getting even with him from beyond the grave.

_Will I never be free of that man?_

Drawing back his arm, Dalton was about to hurl the crown in a fit of anger when a thought struck him. Maybe there was a way he could still capitalize on Melath's death after all.

"I think I'll hold on to you," he told the crown and slid it down over the head of his crutch. It clanked as it fell and got snagged on a bolt jutting out from one of the sides. Hanging lopsided like that, it seemed less like the symbol of Zealian power and more like just another piece of wreckage.

Stretching out with his magic, Dalton "felt" for any signs of life. Had he been searching for Enlightened, he would have picked up on their magical energies right away, sensing them in his mind's eye as a beacon of colored light. Searching for Earthbound was much harder, since there wasn't any color to see, just a pulse of energy to be felt. The fainter the color or pulse, the farther away that person or group of people were.

He didn't see any colors, so no rescue team of Enlightened were nearby. But he did feel a distant pulse in the direction he was facing. There wasn't anything else he could sense within his magical radius, so the pulse was his only bet.

"Good enough," he muttered and began hobbling again.

After gimping about for what felt like an eternity, Dalton was tempted to just give up and go back the way he'd come and wait to see if anyone from Zeal would come rescue him. He was cold, wet, tired, and in a lot of pain.

_This has got to be one of the worst days of my life,_ he bemoaned in his head. _What'd I do to deserve this?_

The snow shifted under his good foot. He went in almost to his knee and began to fall forward.

"What the-?" he began and tried to catch himself, but there wasn't any solid ground to support his weight. His arms hit the snow, then went _through_ it.

The warrior-wizard had only a moment to realize what was happening before the world dropped out from under him and he was falling through the air. He landed with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. For a few excruciating seconds, he felt as if he were suffocating before he was able to breathe again. Then the pain hit him and he groaned.

Looking up, he could see the hole he'd fallen through. It was about fifteen feet up, and actually rather wide. Man-made ledges had been carved into the stone wall, a crude ladder of sorts that led up and out. The snow must have accumulated and hid the opening from view.

Rolling onto his side, Dalton surveyed his surroundings as best he could. The only light was coming from the hole directly above him, and it was so pale and weak that he had trouble seeing more than a few feet away. There was a pungent odor in the air. It smelled like sour wine and eggs. Familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Though he couldn't be sure, he got the impression that this was only the mouth of a tunnel that was heading in the same general direction as the energy pulses he'd felt earlier. If the ladder was any indication, he'd more than likely stumbled upon an entrance to one of the Earthbound colonies.

_How fortuitous,_ he thought with only the barest hint of sarcasm.

Dalton's crutch had slipped from his hand when he'd fallen. Expending some of his failing strength, he fashioned a ball of magical light to help him see in the cave's dimness. He located both his crutch and the crown without trouble and clung to them like a lifeline.

Standing under the hole, he considered his options. He could attempt to climb out and keep walking overland in the snow, or head deeper into the cave. There was no telling how long it would take to find civilization, so it was really just a matter of which option would provide the least amount of strain to his person.

The cave floor was rough and uneven, but nowhere near as bad as slogging through drifts of snow in short pants. Besides which, even though it was still freezing, without the wind sucking up all his body heat he might have a better chance of survival. And at least the cave was dry.

That cinched it. The tunnel it was.

As he began to shuffle forward, that's when he heard it. It began as a low chuffing sound, followed by a strange barking that echoed off the stone. The farther into the tunnel he went, the louder the noises became, along with the strong smell he'd experienced earlier. It stung his nose. Using one of the blankets draped about his shoulders, he fashioned it into a makeshift facemask to filter the offending odor as best he could.

_What the hell __**is**__ that?_

He was starting to have a bad feeling the further along he got. Slowing his pace, Dalton used as much stealth as his shambling walk would allow and gingerly crept along the wall to disguise his movements.

The tunnel widened into another room. It was large and circular, with boxes stacked all over the place. This appeared to be some sort of storage room for the Earthbound. Zealian technology had been anchored to the stone at various intervals to provide a constant light source.

Dalton's heart sank at what he saw. There, in the center of the room, were Beasts. They were breaking into the boxes looking for food.

Quickly, Dalton snuffed his own light before they took notice of him.

There were three of them, probably two juveniles and their mother given their respective sizes. Their tan and blue-gray fur gave Dalton a momentary thrill of relief. An elemental Beast was a far greater threat than their less colorful counterparts. That being said, normal Beasts were no laughing matter. At over a ton of solid muscle, with wicked claws and fangs, it wasn't unheard of for one of them to make short work of things they didn't like, namely humans. Beasts were fiercely territorial creatures.

There was no way around them; the boxes were pressed flush against the walls, so Dalton couldn't even use them for cover to try and sneak past.

At his healthiest, the warrior-wizard believed that he could have used his magic to take them on, but even then it would have been a challenge to defeat three rampaging monsters all by himself. In his weak and wounded condition, he doubted he could work enough serious magic to damage a piece of tissue paper. Fighting his way through just wasn't a feasible option.

_Maybe if I wait long enough they'll leave on their own_, he thought, though he sneered at the ludicrousness of the idea. Who knew how long that would take, and he really didn't have the luxury of just waiting around to find out.

Dalton was just about to return to the entrance and climb back out when one of the juveniles raised its head and started sniffing the air. Seeing its sibling's actions, the other juvenile began doing the same. They looked in his direction.

Dalton froze.

Beasts were known to have poor eyesight, but they made up for that with their incredibly keen sense of smell. He'd forgotten that the scent of blood from his various wounds would more than likely draw their curiosity.

One of the juveniles gave its strange bark and the adult raised its head from inside the box it had be savaging. Now it, too, began to sniff. Deciding that they liked what they were smelling, or were at least intrigued by it, the trio started moving in his direction.

_Not good, not good…!_

Dalton was pressed against the wall, half-concealed by a small alcove and the shadows within it. There was no way he could move without giving away his position, but the longer he stayed the more likely he was to be attacked. But to run was to invite being chased. There just weren't any good options for survival.

They were almost at his hiding spot.

Dalton couldn't take it any longer. He bolted.

Behind him, the adult Beast roared as it caught sight of him. The ground vibrated as the trio began to give chase.

The tunnel was almost pitch black without his light and every wound protested bitterly as he ran, but somehow Dalton managed to avoid falling or running face-first into a wall. If he remembered correctly, it had been a straight shot back to where he'd fallen in. The Beasts wouldn't have an easy time of it either in the dark, which was probably the only thing saving him at the moment.

Something large and furry brushed past him on his left, then on this right. He clamped down on a shout as the two Beasts hurtled by. His first thought was one of relief that they apparently hadn't noticed they'd passed him. If they'd known he was there, they could have torn him in half with one or two bites of their powerful jaws. Even so, he couldn't relax just yet. There was still another Beast thundering down the tunnel somewhere in the dark behind him.

Weak light began to appear on the wall ahead as the tunnel made an L-shaped turn to the left. Beyond that would be the makeshift ladder and the hole. Dalton put on the speed, doing his best to ignore the pain as his injured leg burned and throbbed with every jarring step.

_I can do it! I'm almost there!_

His elation was cut short as he rounded the corner and the exit came into view. Two monstrous silhouettes were eclipsing most of the dim light leaking down behind them. Dalton came to the horrified realization that the passing Beasts _had _known he was there but had held back their attacks in order to race on ahead and block his escape route. He was neatly trapped between a rock and a hard place.

The Beast behind him had slowed to a walk. He could hear it taking its time further down in the tunnel. No sense in expending extra energy on pursuing prey that had nowhere to run. The ones in front of him made more barking sounds and began to close in.

_Damn it! There has to be some way out of this mess! _

Dalton hesitated for only a second before making his decision. He hadn't survived the Blackbird disaster only to be eaten here.

_Here goes everything…_

He charged right at the oncoming juveniles. They growled in anger at being challenged. When they were within range, Dalton closed his one working eye and threw out his left hand in front of himself. A brilliant flash of light, bright enough to be seen even behind his eyelid, illuminated the dark tunnel. The young Beasts let out horrible shrieks as it rendered them blind.

That was it. His inner well of magic was tapped dry. It left a staggering feeling of fatigue and emptiness, a soul-void that Dalton was acutely aware of. He had nothing to fall back on now except for his limited physical abilities, and he doubted those would save him if tested.

Not wasting any time, Dalton opened his eye and dashed on through. Even without their vision, they could still sense his presence and attempted to claw at him as he escaped. He ducked and was rewarded with their blows landing on one another instead of on him. Unable to determine that they were attacking each other, the juvenile Beasts began to brawl in the mouth of the tunnel. Behind them, their mother roared in anger at their incompetence at capturing their prey.

Dalton allowed himself a brief rest at the bottom of the makeshift ladder, just enough time to get back some of his wind, before he dropped the crown and the crutch in order to begin climbing. His whole body was screaming in protest at his abusive treatment, but there was little he could do about it. It was this, or be made into lunch.

He hadn't gotten very far up when the adult Beast managed to break past its younger cohorts. It ran towards the ladder and set its front feet on the wall. Standing up on its hind legs like that, it stood twice as tall as the average man.

Dalton didn't stand a chance. He tried to brace himself as one of those heavy front paws lifted and batted at him. The next thing he knew, he was swatted airborne and the ground rushed up to catch him on its hard surface.

Landing in a heap on the floor, Dalton gasped for air for the second time that day and tried to push himself backwards to put as much distance between himself and the Beast as he could. Each wheezing breath was a struggle. His clothes were ripped on the side where he'd been clawed and he could feel blood soaking the fabric where the monster's talons had raked him.

The Beast lowered itself back on all fours and lumbered towards him, intent on finishing him off. It pounced forward and slammed its front paw on him again, this time pinning him in place by his injured leg.

Dalton screamed. He felt more than heard the sickening snap of bone breaking and almost blacked out. If he'd thought his leg had hurt earlier, it was nothing compared to the agony that wracked him now.

The Beast opened its fanged maw in preparation for the killing strike, its throat a long, dark tunnel bearing down on him.

Dalton flailed his hands about. He needed a rock, or a stick-anything!-to use as a weapon. His fingers brushed something and he grabbed it, shoving it out in front of him and into the Beast's maw.

The Beast tried to close its mouth on Dalton's arm, but then it recoiled away from him with a howl. It rubbed at its face, but it couldn't dislodge the thing piercing its palate: the sharp points of the royal crown of Zeal.

Just as Dalton was trying to find his crutch to bludgeon the monster with, something remarkable happened. The cave was suddenly illuminated with torchlight and a dozen or so Earthbound rushed in. Each one was carrying a crude weapon made from bone or rock. While most of them set to making short work of the incapacitated Beasts, two men broke away from the rest of the group and approached Dalton.

"We've got a live one, here!" one called out and knelt down beside him. He raked the warrior-wizard with his eyes, taking catalogue of his injuries. "Just hang on," he said at last. "We were sent to rescue you. We'll take you somewhere safe."

"Damn Enlightened," the other man spat. "Got no business being down here, anyway…"

The first man shot the second one a warning look, but Dalton couldn't have cared less at the moment. He grabbed the Earthbound's shoulders tightly as if afraid that he was just a delusion before dying.

"Got to…go to…Zeal!" Dalton grated out. "The King…The King is…"

"Shh, save your strength," the Earthbound man replied, taking hold of Dalton's wrists in order to get him to loosen his grip. "First we'll take you to our colony and have your wounds treated, then we'll contact your people."

He couldn't hold out any longer. The pain and weariness finally took its toll on Dalton, and he surrendered to it. His eye rolled up into his head. He didn't feel it as he fell back against the uneven rock flooring in a dead faint.

* * *

The audience room stood empty save for Lord Hydgal and Lady Izle. Hydgal looked as self-important as always with his malicious, outright grin, as the Gurus walked in carrying the infant prince. Izle's own expression was worried, and she paced back and forth to the large window and away.

The Guru of Time covered a yawn behind a hand. He hadn't gotten much sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he had nightmares about that hideous black boil of magic the prince had created crushing him to death. Over and over, his inner voice whispered "janus." Though not sensitive to the Black Wind, himself, Gaspar nonetheless wondered if proximity to the baby had somehow caused him to be cursed as well.

Not that he said any of this to Melchior. The Guru of Life carried the infant with such protectiveness that even Gaspar was nervous about coming too close; his friend looked like he would fight to the death if someone so much as glanced at the prince the wrong way.

"I trust you were successful with the Sealing?" Hydgal asked when the duo stopped in front of him.

"Good morning to you, too," Melchior grumbled. "Where is everyone?"

The councilman shrugged. "There was no need to bother the others. This decision was approved by all, but only needs to be confirmed by myself and a witness." He indicated Lady Izle with a nod in her direction. She was too preoccupied to notice. "In any event, so long as you didn't botch the job and managed to Seal the prince's powers, my word should be enough to satisfy the others."

He began to reach for the baby.

Melchior's mustache bristled. "Before we get into that, what news of the King?"

Lady Izle twisted her fingers together in front of her so hard that she gave the occasional wince as her joints popped. Even Hydgal hesitated.

"Nothing yet," the councilwoman replied. "We're all anxious to find out what's happened to the Blackbird. The storm eased up some time in the early hours of the morning and a rescue team was assembled. They were dispatched shortly thereafter, but they haven't reported in yet. We expect to hear some news any moment, now."

"I see."

Hydgal raised his eyebrows at the older man. "Has your curiosity been satisfied for the moment, Guru Melchior, or do you wish to stall for even more time?"

Melchior glared as he thrust the infant out before him for inspection.

The councilman rested his fingers on both sides of the prince's head. The Gurus could feel him begin to scan their work using his magic. The baby's eyes opened immediately, and he gave a moue of discomfort.

"Will it suffice?" Gaspar demanded after several minutes had passed.

Hydgal glanced over at him. "Patience. I've only just begun. This isn't something that should be rushed, for the safety of the Kingdom." The intensity of his magic outflow increased as he focused even more heavily on the Seal.

The baby whimpered, then began to cry. His little face was scrunched up with obvious pain. But Hydgal was relentless and continued to pour even more magical energy into his scrutiny.

Melchior couldn't stand to watch anymore. "That's enough! You'll damage his mind if you continue!" He attempted to pull the prince back against him and sever the magical connection between the two.

But Hydgal wrenched the prince back into place. "You know, Guru Melchior, I'm beginning to sense that you're uneasy regarding this process. Could it be that you doubt your abilities in this regard? Or perhaps, you and Guru Gaspar are trying to bluff the Grand Council?" The eagerness in his voice hinted that he really hoped they were.

"That's slanderous nonsense! It's _your_ abilities I'm calling into question!"

"Melchior…" Gaspar laid a warning hand on his friend's shoulder.

Hydgal's face purpled and he dug his fingers reflexively into the baby's face. Without warning, a tremendous surge of magic issued forth from the distressed infant. It was enough raw energy to reduce a person to ashes, but at the last moment, the Seal swallowed it up. The only manifestation of it was a brief flash of light that caused Hydgal to leap away with an undignified yelp.

"Monster!" he cried, and pointed a shaking finger at the prince. "You all felt that, didn't you? He tried to kill me!"

"Can't say that I blame him," Melchior grumbled as he turned away and began to rock the crying prince.

"What was that?"

Gaspar stepped in before it came to blows. "As you can see," he began quickly, "the Seal is in place. Any magical emissions will be drained of their potency before they can be released, thus rendering him effectively magic-less. He'll no longer be a threat to anyone."

Lady Izle glanced to her fellow councilman. "Is that really the case?"

Hydgal was still breathing hard. He worked his mouth like he wanted to start shouting orders for execution, but he clenched his fists by his sides, grit his teeth, and said, "From what I could tell, the Seal is secure. I wasn't able to fully examine it; who knows what might go wrong with it in the future? For now, at least, it appears to be doing its job."

"Of course it is," Melchior snapped. "Or else we'd be sweeping your remains into a dust pail even as we speak."

Hydgal rounded on him. "You're treading on my thinnest thread of patience, Guru Melchior. One more word out of you, and so help me-"

But his threat remained unfinished as several Enlightened guardsmen entered the room. Every face was grim.

For a moment, no one could speak. Even the prince had succumbed to silence.

At last, Gaspar managed to ask in a strangled whisper, "The king?"

The acting head of the Zealian guards blinked back unshed tears and reached into a bag at his hip. He withdrew an item and held it out for everyone to see.

Lady Izle let out a shocked gasp. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and Gaspar was just fast enough to catch her as she dropped to the floor in a faint.

The guard and his retinue knelt before Melchior, or rather, the infant prince in his grasp. The crown was laid before him at the Guru's feet.

"The king is dead," the guardsman muttered in a choked voice. "Long live the king."


	3. The Test of Magic

****

The Story Of Magus Chapter Two 

****

The Test of Magic 

By ZealPropht 

"But I don't wanna get up, Schala! All they do is yell at me!" 

"I don't care! You've skipped your lessons for three days straight and stayed up reading till way past your bedtime. You need to go to class, Janus, whether you feel like it or not. Now, get your behind in gear this minute!" 

No!" The prince stuck his tongue out at his sister and crawled under the covers till he was scrunched up at the foot of his bed. Schala sighed, blew a strand of hair from her face, and put her hands on her hips. Little brothers were so annoying at times! Picking up a pillow, she thwacked the lump in the bed. There was a muffled, "Ooof!", but otherwise, the lump didn't move an inch. 

Schala laughed. "Oh, no! A big mole has gotten into my baby brother's bed and has eaten him! Don't worry, Janus, I'll save you," she giggled, thwacking her sibling yet again. "Give me back my brother, mole-monster!" Thwack! "He needs to get up and go to school!" Another thwack! 

"Ouch! Okay, okay! Stop it, Schala!" Janus sighed from under the quilts and after much struggling with the sheets, his head popped out, blue hair a tangled mess that hung in his face like a curtain. "But this really is a waste of my time!" 

The princess grinned and laid out his clothes on a chair. This was a servant's job, but since the prince had no servants who cared to serve him.... "Jeeze! You're a real grouch this morning! If I were you, I'd be excited. I mean, birthdays only happen once a year and yours is tomorrow." Absently she reached out and tried to brush the blue curls out of his face. He jerked his head away in annoyance. His mother used to do that....He didn't want to think about her. He hated to think about her. 

"Why should I be excited? What's another birthday? If you've had one, you've had them all. I'll be eight years old tomorrow. So what? It's not as if I actually matter to anyone around here." Janus glared at his sister who was about to protest. "Oh, stop it! You know as well as I do I'm telling the truth." 

"That's an awful thing to say!" she scolded, wagging a finger at him. "Of course you matter! Everyone loves you, Janus, even if they are too busy to show you how much. You know everyone always treats you extra special on your birthday." 

"Yeah, so? It's all a sham, they don't mean it! Oh, sure! They laugh and joke and pretend to enjoy being around me. But when they think I can't see them, they sweat and whisper and stare at me." The prince's eyes were frosty. "They blame me for what happened to Father." 

Schala didn't say a word, because there was nothing really to say. It was true. She hated to admit it, but it was true. Seven years had passed since the Blackbird disaster. Queen Zeal had taken the heavy role of leadership upon her shoulders, a thing not commonly done so soon after mourning. But she was a strong-willed woman with cunning and intellect who seemed to be doing remarkably well, considering the circumstances. In fact, she had even ordered the construction of a new palace. 

Queen Zeal felt it was time to start utilizing the untidy masses of Earthbound Ones as more then just workers for the mining of the rare red Dreamstones that were so popular in the Magical Kingdom. This action was applauded and supported by practically everyone. The Enlightened saw their unfortunate counterparts as little more then animals to be used for labor. The Ocean Palace, as the new structure was to be called, would allow the Queen to spend more time organizing the hapless race and to maintain control over their actions. 

While the Earthbound strongly rejected this idea, this form of dictatorship, their pleas and complaints fell on deaf ears. Trust the Enlightened to be so caught up in "helping" their fellow man that they ignored the fact their floating continent was causing an eternal blizzard down below. But what sort of problem was a blizzard, the Enlightened reasoned, when there was a civilization without order? In their opinion, the Earthbound should stop griping about "unfair conditions" and "equality" and be grateful the Queen had anything to do with them at all....especialy since it was one of their stupid rebellions that got the King of Zeal killed in the first place. If he hadn't tried to stop it, he wouldn't have flown in the Blackbird and would probably still be alive to raise his daughter....and of course the prince. 

People referred as little to Janus as possible. They blamed him for the King's death as well, saying that his birth brought bad luck. After all, wasn't he named for death and destruction? Though Melchior had protested that he hadn't meant for the name to be a curse on the child, no one really bothered to listen. It was superstitious nonsense, of course, but they were a race of dreamers, (literally), and looked for meaning in places where there was none. 

But so it went, back and forth between the Enlightened and the Earthbound, each trying to outdo the other, the Zealians trying to "save" this magic-less race of "beasts." The Earthbound began to become hostile, though not openly aggressive, towards the occupants of Zeal while the Enlightened, blissfully unaware that their actions were causing more harm then good, gloated in their new pet project. 

However, the Earthbound had managed to obtain a slight degree of respect due to the recent discovery of a previously undetected power source buried deep inside one of the mining caves. Belthazar, who had been out of action since the King's death, took a sudden interest in this new discovery and made a rapid recovery, now that he had a purpose. His tests showed that this energy was being radiated by some sort of living creature, though as to what it was....The tests had shown it was nothing of this world, though no one could imagine such a force could come from one creature. Belthazar had no theory yet as to what it might be or how to safely tap the energy outflow but he and his development team were working day and night under Queen Zeal's command. 

Having always been sharp to spot assets to the throne, the Queen demanded a way be found to harness that power. This led back to the idea of the Ocean Palace, for not only could she govern the Earthbound, but she could use this new power to stop their petty resistance once and for all. And though they were only rumors, it was whispered that the construction of a gigantic machine was in the process. Though publicly, the rumors were denied, one could never tell what cards the crafty Queen planned to used. 

Janus sighed and looked around his room. Though the walls were covered with gold inlay and the rest of his things just as expensive, he found no pleasure at the sight of it all. He felt like a bird, a bird trapped in a gilded cage, surrounded by hungry cats. Cats....He liked cats. But that was about all he liked in this dreary land full of false smiles and shattered dreams. 

"No one likes me, Schala. No one ever will. I have no friends, except you." The boy's eyes filled with tears that he bravely choked back. "Not even Mother likes me." This last part slipped out before he could stop it. He hated to talk about her, it hurt too much. 

"Oh, but you are so wrong Janus!" Schala replied, sitting down on the bed and taking her brother's shoulders in her hands. She felt the tension in him, the strain of his emotions which he struggled to control. She drew him close and he hugged her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. "You know Mother is busy. She has the Kingdom to run, and now with this business with the Ocean Palace....We must try to think of the time she does spend with us, not on how much we miss her." She held Janus at arms length and looked sternly into his large eyes. Though they shone with tears, it did nothing to diminish their intense purple color. "But that doesn't mean she has stopped loving us." 

"I know....but I miss her allot. I wish that just once we could talk. Just you and her and I, all together. Like....like a family...." He swallowed a lump in his throat and sighed. "I hardly ever see her, even when she's not busy. She likes you more then she does me. I mean, I know she cares, but I wish she would show it a little bit more...." 

"I know, Janus. I know." The princess hugged her brother again and tried a small laugh. It wasn't a good laugh, but it lightened the mood. "C'mon. You need to get dressed. The Gurus will wonder where you've gotten yourself to and will yell at you if you don't show up soon." 

The prince made a face as he hopped out of bed and reached for his clothes. "It doesn't matter what I do or what I say, they are always grouchy!" he complained. Schala turned her back politely as he changed. 

"Well, you do give them a hard time, you know. They say you are very bright and gifted if you'd only apply yourself more to those magic exercises they've given you." 

"Oh, Schala! Not you too! You're starting to sound like Gaspar!" Janus imitated the Guru of Time's voice in a none-too-pleasent tone. "Stand up straight! Pay attention! Focus! Apply yourself to the task!" 

Schala laughed, caught herself, and tried to sound disapproving. "Now, Janus....ha, ha...er, um, that's not nice to...he, he...do! Guru Gaspar is just trying to...he does sound like that doesn't he? I mean, he's just trying to help you learn the things you need to know for when you get older," she finished lamely. She heard her brother snort. 

"Yeah, right. I don't see the point of learning this stuff anyway. Everyone knows I don't have magic in me." 

Schala frowned, startled. "Who's been telling you that you don't have magic?" 

"Well, everyone." 

"Who is everyone? The Gurus? Other Enlightened?" 

"It's no big deal, Schala. I don't care. Everyone says that of the both of us, you have the power of magic while I got stuck with the Black Wind. People say I'm gifted because I can hear it. But then, you have that power too, so I'm really not that special am I?" His tone grew pouty. "Why do you get all the fun, Schala? I don't mean to sound jealous, 'cause I know I should be happy for what gifts I've got, even if it is a stinky old wind..." 

Schala whirled around in anger. Janus was tucking in his shirt when his sibling grabbed hold of him. She gave him a hard shake. "The Black Wind isn't a gift! It's a curse, Janus, do you understand? I don't want it. I hate it! It's not something to be proud of. And yes you do have magic! You must have it." 

The boy stared at his sister in shock. She was so angry! "I-I'm sorry! I was j-just repeating w-w-what I heard," he stammered. Schala let him go and stepped away. He watched her in confusion, not quite understanding what was happening. She sighed and shook her head. 

"It's okay, Janus. Don't apologize. I'm sorry I scared you," she said. 

But it wasn't okay, not with the prince you stood watching her carefully, protectively, wanting to make her feel better and to laugh like she had only moments ago. But the thought still nagged at him. "But Schala, what if it's true?" 

"What if what's true?" 

"What if I really don't have any magic like everyone says? What if all I have is the Black Wind and that's all I'll ever have? Maybe I'm like the Earthbound...." 

Now Schala laughed despite herself. "No, Janus, my dear little brother. You are Enlightened and nothing will ever change that. As all Enlightened have magic, so do you, you just have to find it inside yourself. Trust in that and it will come to you, believe me." She straightened his collar, ran a comb through his hair, separating the tangles gently, and tucked the hair behind his pointed ears. "There! Now you look like a prince." 

"Oh, goody!" her brother remarked sarcastically. This earned him a dirty look but he grinned anyway. 

Schala put her hands on her hips. "Keep acting this way and I'll give your present to someone else." She watched as her brother's face lit up. 

"Present? For me? What is it? What is it?" 

"You'll see!" Schala told him mysteriously. The boy sighed, in disappointment but nodded. Laughing, Schala handed him his books on wind, fire, and water and pushed him out of his room into the hall. "Get going! You're in for it as it is!" 

Four halls, three cross-chambers and five dawdling minutes later, Prince Janus arrived to the last stretch of his commute from the royal living quarters to the more populated areas in the palace. On his route there was a particularly long stairway that had to be descended. It had a slippery wooden railing, perfect for sliding down. 

Looking both ways to make sure no one was around, Janus crawled up onto the top and straddled the railing. Once again he checked the area. The coast seemed clear. Holding the books tightly in one arm, he pushed off. The slide started out slow then picked up speed. He was just starting to prepare for stopping when one of the books slipped from his grasp. The boy tried to catch it, but forgot to stop and instead, flew off the end of the railing, smashing into something soft and sprawling on the floor. 

As he dizzily got up, a firm hand latched onto his collar, lifting him up. "And just what in the name of the Great Nu did you think you were doing?!" 

Raising his head, Janus groaned. It was Gaspar. He made regal face and said, "How dare you lay hands on the royal person! Let me go at once!" commanded. Gaspar shrugged and dropped Janus who landed on his behind with a thud. He glared up at the old Guru. "That's wasn't want I meant! I meant, let me go gently!" 

Gaspar shrugged again. "Well, you didn't say that did you?" He reached down and took the prince by the ear. "Okay, young man. March!" The old man started walking, dragging Janus along behind him. 

"Ouch! Hey, lemme go! I'll have your head for this!" he wailed. 

"Oh, hush, you little monster! I've just spent half an hour running around looking for you and I'm in no mood to deal with your temper tantrums!" 

Janus gasped in astonished annoyance. "You can't talk to me like that! I'm a prince! I'm the one who tells people to hush!" He sulked. "And I'm not throwing a temper tantrum!" 

"When you're old enough to behave your age and take some responsibility, then I'll listen to you. But until then, I'm the adult here so I give the commands." 

The prince glowered but said nothing, since his head was at an uncomfortable angle and he was forced to walk fast to keep his ear from being yanked off. As they rounded the corner into the corridor that led to the library, (where the classes were held), loud obnoxious laughter filled the air. Captain Dalton could be seen, leaning against a pillar with a couple of his buddies, all of them obviously intoxicated. The smell of beer hung in the air. 

Gaspar frowned, hating to have to expose Janus to this shameful display, but it was either pass the lounging guards or take another fifteen minutes to go around them through other side-galleries. Gaspar decided to plow right through as fast as he could. He started to walk so hurriedly that Janus was forced to practically jog. 

As they passed, he saw Dalton and saw a possible chance for escape. "Hey, Dalton!" he cried. The man turned his head and stared through his one good eye, blinking owlishly. He made a funny staggering bow, as did his cohorts. "Arrest this man, Dalton. That's a command!" 

Dalton hiccupped and giggled like a girl. "On what...hiccup!....chargesh...your Highnesh? Hiccup!" he slurred. "I can't go 'round arreshting people fer no reashon...hiccup!" 

"Premeditated abduction of royalty, Dalton! Gaspar is trying to kidnap me and take me to the library for stupid magic lessons. It's your duty as the Captain of the Royal Guards to protect me from psychos like this!" Janus replied with a wave at Gaspar. 

"Don't talk to him, Janus," Gaspar murmured. "Just keep walking." 

Dalton raised his eyebrows. "Pre-ted-i-mated wha....? Hey! Hang on there, Gashper! Burp! I tink thish kid ish trying to tell me someshing!" 

Gaspar snorted and remarked, "Come along, Janus. You have enough bad habits without seeing this poor excuse for a role-model." 

Janus cried out in frustration. "I don't believe this! I'm in a palace full of loonies! Dalton! What's my mother paying you to do? Stand there and look pretty?" The Captain laughed, burped, and winked lewdly. 

"That...and other thingsh!" he snickered. The other guards busted up laughing. Janus gave Gaspar a questioning look. Before he could ask his question, the Guru had placed his hand over his ears. It didn't do a thing to block the sounds but he got the hint. 

"Blast it, man! Have some decency! If not for your own sake then for the sake of the boy, keep your bedroom activities where they belong! I don't care what you do behind closed doors or who with but I will not have it broadcasted throughout the palace!" Gaspar hissed. Dalton held up his hands. 

"Okay, okay! Jeesh! Burp! Hiccup!" 

Gaspar put his hand on Janus' shoulder and propelled him along the way. "Come along." 

"That's Prince Janus to you, Gaspar, not 'the boy.' I am royalty." 

"Oh, hush!" 

"I get no respect....!" 

They reached the library where Melchior and Belthazar, (and of course the Nu), lounged about. Melchior was smoking his pipe and flipping through a book on alloys while Belthazar and the Nu tinkered with some gizmo on one the of the tables. The Guru of Time looked up as they entered. 

"What kept you? Had to chase his Highness across Terra Continent?" Belthazar spoke the title mockingly. Janus sniffed disdainfully at him and raised his nose in the air. 

"No, we ran into some trash along the way," Gaspar replied in disgust. Melchior looked up from his book. "Dalton was being his customary sick self, as usual, and was stone drunk." 

Belthazar shook his head and Melchior closed his book. They knew the Captain's habits well enough to agree that he was scum. Janus, on the other hand, liked to contradict everyone so he said, "He was just having a bit of fun, is all." 

Gaspar sighed and pushed him into the room, closing the door behind him. "Yes, go ahead and defend the idiot, Janus. You're too young to know better. But I must insist that I'd rather you not spend your time with that character. He's bad news." 

"Not to mention a royal pain in the neck!" Belthazar added loudly. Realizing what he'd said, he made a little bow to Janus. "If you'll pardon the expression. I didn't mean to insinuate that being royalty makes one a pain." Of course, he reasoned, in Janus' case, an exception might be made. 

Janus waved a hand airily, walking to a chair and seating himself. "Not at all my dear fellow. I realize that your age has doubtlessly addled your wits and made you forgetful of the proper forms of etiquette used in the presence of royalty." 

Melchior tapped the ashes in his pipe into a jar, (one actually meant for ashes this time), and pulled his chair closer to his pupil. "That's a new line. Where'd you pick up that one?" 

"Yes, I don't recall that particular insult. Where do you get that stuff anyway?" Gaspar asked as well. Janus smiled smugly. 

"Wouldn't you like to know...." He laughed, handing over his books. "Check the book on wind, page two-seventy-six. It has some things scribbled in the margins. I added my own twists of course, but the idea is the same." 

Melchior opened said book and flipped to the page. "I don't see anything." 

"I know. I scratched it out." Janus chuckled. "There's more where that came from, though not in these books. I got most of my ideas from Belthazar, if you must know. I've been using his old school books and he has some really nifty insults he scribbled down about his teachers. I just took the old ideas and changed them for my use. I must admit, he inspires the creative side of me." 

The Guru of Reason sighed forlornly, petting the Nu. "I hate it when you do that." He looked sadly at his two grinning friends. The creature at his side started to wobble. "See what I have to put up with? He takes the nicest of compliments and turns them into insults." The Nu suddenly fell forward, it's head thunking on the table. Loud snores erupted from it's throat. Belthazar smacked it on the head and it awoke with a sneeze. "Try to stay awake, you irritating thing!" To Janus, he continued, "If you spent half the time you use to make us miserable, you could be the smartest boy in Zeal Kingdom." 

Janus laughed at that. "For a no-magic Enlightened, I'd say I do pretty well." 

Melchior shook his head. "You've been listening to too much gossip, lad. Everyone has magic in them, it's just find out how to reach it. You just need to settle down and focus. That's why I think you need to take the Test of Magic." 

Janus looked irritated. "Test of Magic?! Are you insane? There is no way I can take that! I can't even levitate a potted plant and you want me to start using Tech spells already?!" 

Melchior laughed. "No, Janus. I wouldn't expect you to know Tech spells at your age. But a slightly less formal version of the Test might be in order. What I'm saying is that you need confidence. To cast spell you need inner strength. To get inner strength you need to feel self-worth. Your mind is saying 'no' but your inner self is saying 'yes'. You just need to listen...." 

Janus looked at the Guru of Life as if he were nutzoid. "Listen, huh? To my inner self?" He assumed a very patient look, as if he were talking to someone he knew to be crazy. "Okay, Melchior, and what else do these inner voices say? Do they say to you that you are in need of professional counseling? We have some very helpful people here...." 

Melchior sighed. "Forget it. I'm sorry I brought it up. You are obviously too immature to handle this." Janus bristled defensively. Inside, Melchior congratulated himself. Trust Janus to fear his fragile ego being threatened! 

"I'm not immature! It's just that-" Janus paused and listened. He thought he'd heard a noise. Shaking it off, he tried to finish his sentence. "It's just that I'm not ready to take any tests yet. It's not fair to make me take one when I have no idea what's on it." There was that noise again! Trying to focus on his argument, Janus added lamely, "And besides, I don't want to do it and you can't make me!" That was it. He DID here something, but it wasn't from inside. It was from outside. Getting up, he shoved past the Gurus and went to the window. There was the source of the noise. He spotted a small lavender furball scurry across the grassy garden that sat inside the palace center. Closely following the ball were a group of laughing Enlightened children. As the prince watched, one of the kids started sparking little jolts of energy at the puff-critter. Angered by the display of cruelty to animals, Janus ran to a side door and opened it up, entering another section of library and exiting through the glass garden door. He ignored the cries of his teachers for him to return to them at once. Instead, he stomped right up to the kids and drew himself to his most imposing height. At almost eight years of age, it was a great deal of height, but the look on his face was more then enough to make up for it. 

"Stop this at once!" he commanded. The kids saw him, squealed, and backed off. 

"It's the Prince!" one boy screeched. 

"Run for your life!" a girl added. As one, the group of kids took off leaving Janus alone with the poor victimized creature. He approached the puff-critter. It turned out to be a very fluffy kitten of a pale lavender color. The poor thing was shaking in fear and tried to bite the prince as he reached for it. In the background he could here Melchior, who had obviously followed him, scolding the cruel Zealian children as they ran by. Slowly, ever so slowly, Janus tried to pet the kitten again. This time, sensing that he meant no harm, the kitten let him scratch it's head and under it's chin before crawling up into the boy's lap. Janus was ecstatic. Cats were rare in Zeal since they had to be captured as kittens from their wild parents who usually were too ferocious to approach. Wild cats were just as dangerous as the monsters that dwelled within the many caves on Terra Continent. And yet, here was this adorable little creature who was actually starting to like him. That was a first. Besides Schala, no one really liked him at all. A surge of love went through him and he couldn't help but hug the kitten closer. 

But as the Guru of Life approached, the cat went wild. It leapt off Janus' lap and scurried up a wooden pole where it clung to one of the flags. The pole was a good ten feet high and it was obvious the kitten was scared to move. "Oh, no! Now he's stuck!" Janus complained. "Look what you did!" Melchior apologized. 

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare it. I'll tell you what, I'll go get a ladder." With that, Melchior turned and went to go fetch one. Janus, on the other hand, wanted the cat down right then and there. 

"It's okay, kitty. I'll get you down...somehow." He looked at the pole and at the height of a nearby wall. He decided that if he could lean from the wall to the pole, he'd have the cat crawl onto him and then get down. It seemed like a perfectly sound plan. He climbed up onto the wall using the cracks for footholds, balancing fairly well on it's narrow ledge. On the other side of the wall was dizzying drop to the bottom of the mountain Zeal Palace stood upon. He tried not to think about how it would feel to splatter and concentrated on getting the kitten. 

He reached for the pole, successfully grasping it, and held on. The kitten jumped onto his shoulders and crawled down him to finally plop onto the wall. Janus was relived and pushed himself back to a straight position. He carefully lifted the kitten and held it and started walking along the top of the wall to find a way to get down since he couldn't climb down with one hand. 

As he walked, he began to notice that the wall wasn't as in good condition as he thought it was. The bricks were coming lose and starting to fall apart and the mortar was cracking. Trying to place his weight evenly was beginning to become a problem and without warning, the wall gave way beneath him. With a shout, the prince tumbled towards the garden, (which was good because then he would only fall about ten feet), but the heavy stones and bricks would then land on top of him, (which was not good because he could get his skull smashed). 

Janus twisted to avoid landing on the kitten, the impact of the ground knocking the air out of him and he could feel his right arm break. Fighting against pain and a shower of rocks, he did the only thing he could think of....protected the kitten. He hugged the animal close and then a rock hit him and he blacked out. 

Less then a few minutes later, the other two Gurus ran to the scene when they heard the wall crumbling and Janus' shout. They found him surrounded by rocks, unconscious from a bloody cut on his head with a broken arm. Though the rocks hadn't been large enough to kill him, they could have caused serious wounds. What was surprising was the fact that apparently he had cast a crude shield spell which blocked the brunt of the fall. It looked unintentional, so it probably had been his mind's reflex action. 

. 

__

To this day, no one knows if it really was a spell he cast or if he was simply lucky. But it seemed to the Gurus a positive sign that yes, Prince Janus did indeed have magic and they drilled him twice as hard in his studies, delaying the Test of Magic until his arm healed. 

The cat was actually the gift Schala had talked about earlier that same day. She had been bringing it to her brother when it had escaped her grasp. He named it Alfador, after the original founder of Zeal Kingdom. The kitten and Janus formed a strong attachment and people found it a little unbelievable the animal actually liked one such as him. But Alfador was like his young master, fickle, finicky, and as long as he had his cat beside him, Prince Janus wasn't lonely anymore. 


	4. Power the Pendant

****

The Story Of Magus Chapter Three 

****

Power The Pendant 

By ZealPropht 

"Eureka! That's finally done it!" 

"Belthazar, please don't scare me like that! I almost jumped out of my skin!" Melchior complained, laying aside his magnifying glass and a chunk of Dreamstone he was inspecting. The quality of the stone was incredible. It was pure, unpolluted, and perfect for creating a weapon worthy of a Guru. Though I have little need for one, Melchior chuckled to himself. 

"Oh, Melchior! You need to cut back on the coffee. You're getting jittery again," the Guru of Reason replied, slapping the Nu's hand as it fiddled with a wrench on the worktable. The two old men stood in Belthazar's laboratory in Kajar. The room was crowded with the many inventions the Guru had crated over the years and stashed away. The gadgets were in sore need of a dusting however. In some places, you couldn't distinguish what color the object had originally been, the dust was so thick! Obviously, the Nu hadn't been doing his job and keeping the place neat and tidy. 

"Stop blaming the coffee, you tea fiend! And I am most certainly not jittery! You disrupted my concentration is all." 

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say Melchior. I believe you. And don't knock the tea!," Belthazar responded with a grin. "Any way, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm so happy to be finally done with it!" 

"With what?" 

"Hmm?" 

"With what? What did you finish?" 

"Oh, this!" The old scientist lifted up a large and heavy-looking gizmo with flashing lights and whirling cogs and springs. "Isn't it beautiful?" 

"Astonishing," Melchior returned dryly. "What is it?" 

"The inner core to the Mamon Machine. I've finally finished it. Now all I need is something to power it...something to draw the energy into the core so the Mamon Machine can begin to store and distribute the power throughout the Kingdom." Belthazar scratched his beard. "I don't know what I could use though." 

He replaced the core on the table and set about to oil the springs. Melchior studied the contraption carefully with quiet awe. He had to admit, this was some of his friend's best work. The Mamon Machine had become Belthazar's entire life, ever since he'd been first handed the plans by Queen Zeal herself, personally assigning him to the project. The Queen had told him of her plans to harness the mysterious power and how soon she wanted the Machine built. The old Guru had wracked his brain, trying to find a way to create this energy pump in the short time allowed him. 

The Mamon Machine was to act like a giant battery, storing the power inside it and distributing it all through the Kingdom, providing energy for the many different uses the Enlightened could devise. The trick was now, as he had stated, to find a way to transfer that energy into the vast confines of wires and circuitry. 

"Her Majesty will be very pleased to know you have finished the task she set before you," Melchior said at last. He didn't really approve of Queen Zeal's little plan. He viewed it as a desperate move to control a force barely understood and explainable. If the Enlightened had one major flaw, it was the fact that they liked to re-shape, dominate, and organize anything remotely outside of their controll. Such was the case with this new power. 

Also, the Guru of Life was one of the few Enlightened to actually sympathize with the Earthbound over their plight. He appalled the way they were treated and frequently went to visit them, often talking with the elders for hours on end and working side by side with the magic-less humans as if there were no difference between them. In his opinion, there wasn't. 

Though his convictions were quiet and often un-voiced in the Council, Melchior had gained a few supporters, one of them being the sixteen year old Princess Schala. She had developed a taste for visiting the Earthbound colonies and they enjoyed her company. Melchior was very proud of her for that. 

Janus, on the other had, was as typical of his kin. He saw the Earthbound as little more then slaves to serve him and he treated them with very little regard. Before he'd acquired that blasted cat, Alfador, the boy had at least been reasonable out of loneliness. Now, there was no living with him. As long as he had his pet, he needed no one, becoming more reclusive and withdrawn then before, barely talking to anyone except to insult him or her. Schala remained his confidante, the one person he really opened up too, though even she had trouble curving his cutting remarks. 

"I hope you are right that Her Majesty will be satisfied with this work," Belthazar said suddenly, disrupting Melchior's thoughts. "I'm getting terribly sick of that woman, to be perfectly frank." 

"Oh, really?" 

"Yes. She's getting so...demanding!" 

The Guru of Life laughed at that. "Well, she is the Queen, after all. It's well within her rights to be demanding." 

Belthazar was writing out a letter now, and from the way he was using careful strokes of his quill pen, it was obvious that this was going to the Queen. "I don't care! She's been acting odd, lately. I mean, she never used to boss me around. But now she seems to be almost enjoying ordering me around." 

"Women always enjoy ordering men around, Belthazar, you know that. It's a passing fling, it will fall through. You must remember that the Queen has been doing an awful lot lately. The King never used to interact with anyone outside of the Enlightend, and even when he did visit the Earthbound, it wasn't for lengthy periods of time. And here we have our respected Queen Zeal spending eight to ten hours a day tramping around in drafty caves with who knows what lurking in the shadows." 

Belthazar shook his heavy old head. "Yes, it surprised me too when she decided to oversee my research teams down there. But personally I think she's spending an unhealthy amount of time around that power out-flow." 

Melchior raised a startled eyebrow. "She what?" 

"Yeah, Queen Zeal is spending most of her time around the cave where we discovered the energy-flow. The first time she felt it, she exclaimed with a laugh that all that energy made her feel giddy and energetic. Since then, I have heard reports that she arrives there early each morning, usually before my teams show up, and stands alone in the cave and savors the energy. Just stands there! She doesn't talk or move, but is stone still, smiling and staring at the wall in front of her almost as if in a trance." 

Melchior made a face. "Now that is weird." 

Belthazar nodded. "Yeah, tell me about it. Gaspar said the same thing." 

"Speaking of which, where is he? I haven't seen him all day." 

"I'd be surprised if you did. Schala talked him into taking her and Janus on another one of her moral boosters for the Earthbound." 

Melchior laughed, pulled out his pipe, and put some tobacco into it. Striking a match, he lit the pipe, waved out the flame, and puffed on it. "How did they talk Janus into going, that's what I'd like to know. He usually hates leaving the palace." 

"Don't I know it. He threw a fit when I had to take him to the library in Enhasia once. I swear! He simply said, 'I'm coming with you' and they let him come. I don't know what thoughts run through his evil little mind and I really couldn't care." 

The old weapon's master sighed. "He's not evil, Belthazar." The Guru of Reason waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I wasn't meaning it literally. But that isn't the point. The point is, I don't understand him and I don't want to try." Belthazar poked the Nu who had fallen asleep while polishing some unidentifiable strip of metal. The creature awoke with a start, throwing the metal into the air, which Melchior deftly caught, his reflexes just as sharp as they were in his youth. Belthazar gave the Nu a shove. "Instead of snoozing, why don't you make yourself useful and make me some tea, you irritating thing!" 

The Nu started to shuffle off, but Belthazar caught his arm. "Wait. Send this letter to the Terra Cave while you're at it. And make sure it is given to Queen Zeal post haste!" The Nu took the sealed envelope and departed to the kitchen. Melchior shook his head with a smile. Those two were inseparable, despite the annoyance the researcher showed towards the blue creature. 

"Anyway, about Janus..." 

Belthazar groaned. "Not him again, Melchior? Honestly! The way you go on about him, as if he were your own son-" He stopped short, biting his lip. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...Melchior I-" 

The Guru of Life was stony faced. "It's all right, Belthazar. I know." 

But it wasn't all right, not with Belthazar, who wished he had never opened his big mouth. Though it wasn't common knowledge, Melchior had a tragic past. Of the three Gurus only he had married. His wife had born him a son, whom he named Evdar. The boy was bright, agile, and extremely athletic. The weapon's master had high hopes of his son one-day inheriting the title of Guru of Life. 

He trained his son in the arts of war and Evdar fast became almost as good as his father was. Unfortunately, he was hotheaded and loved to go to Terra Continent and explore the caves, fighting the Beasts he found there. It was while on one of these escapades with his father, that he fell in battle and was severely wounded. 

The Earthbound tried to keep him comfortable until Melchior could take him home. The Healers did all they could, but he was left without the use of his legs, a cripple who could barely hold a cup let alone a sword. The tragic accident scarred Evdar emotionally and days after his recovery, he was found dead, having taken his own life, unable to deal with his condition. 

Melchior and his wife grieved bitterly. Melchior felt that it should have been him who took the hit, not Evdar. He never really forgave himself that it wasn't. But while, eventually, the weapon's master swallowed the pain and moved on, his wife never did. She refused to eat and gradually wasted away before his eyes. She died of heartbreak, the Healers said. For a while, Melchior lost it. He began to drink, to fight, and caused a general uproar until Belthazar, who was his closest friend, snapped him out of his depression and whipped him back into shape. 

The Guru of Life never re-married and though he loved children dearly, even the bratty Prince Janus, he refused to talk about his past and became upset whenever it was brought up in his presence. 

"Hey, look. I have some stuff I need to do. I'll catch you later, okay?," Melchior murmured softly, removing his lab-coat and laying it on the table. Without further words, he departed, leaving Belthazar to stand alone watching after him. A crash from the kitchen alerted the Guru that his Nu had probably fallen asleep while bringing his tea and spilt it, making a mess. With a sigh, he went to go deal with it. 

"What a filthy little hovel! Why do we have to go in there? It smells, Schala!" Janus held his nose pinched shut and at his feet, Alfador imitated him by holding his paw over his nose. The royal children stood outside of a cave, one of the many that covered the walls inside the gigantic Terra Cave. 

"Oh, Janus, hush! I know it smells bad, but the Earthbound can't help it. If Zeal Kingdom didn't float above the continent, there would be no blizzard and they could live outside in the fresh air. As it is, they have a bad enough time warming the air that does circulate in here," Schala replied sternly. Janus shrugged. 

"Okay, okay! But I came here to explore the caves, not visit these cretins!" 

Schala rolled her eyes. "Janus, I told you before. I'm not taking you through the caves." 

"But Schala...!" 

"No buts! Gaspar left you in my care so he could go see how the research is progressing. I want you to stay by me." 

"I wanna go see the research too!" 

"Don't be silly! You're too young. You'd just get in the way. If you don't want to come visit the Earthbound, all right. But I expect you to wait out here until I come back," Schala told her brother. Janus sighed in disappointment. 

"Okay, fine! Just go!," he snapped, crossing his arms and pouting. The girl rolled her eyes at the tantrum and reminded herself that little brothers were still considered people, and if she wrung Janus's neck, she'd probably get in trouble. 

Janus watched her go. "Phooey! I came to this wretched place expecting to have some fun and all I get is boring! What a rip!" Alfador jumped and pawed at his leg with a meow. The prince scooped up his cat and stroked the silky lavender fur. "I can't go anywhere because Schala said not to, but I want to explore the caves and see what it is Gaspar was so hyped up about when he said, 'The new discoveries'." An idea struck the boy. 

Setting Alfador on the ground, he pushed the cat and made shooing motions. "Go! Run away! C'mon, Alfador! Humor me! Scat!" The cat must have caught the hint for it ran a good distance before stopping and looking back at his young master. "Oh, dear!," Janus said loudly. "Alfador has run away! I must chase him and get him back." Grinning at his own cleverness, the boy took off after his cat. He wouldn't be gone long, and if Schala missed him, he could say that Alfador had run away, which was sort-of the truth... 

He caught up with Alfador, scooped him up, and began to wander. The Earthbound caves were chill and damp, the smell filling the air unpleasantly, but other then that, it was a remarkably friendly society. The magic-less humans mingled together, smiling and waving and children played with a ball made off weeds and hay. Janus saw all this but was, as is expected of an Enlightened, unimpressed by the display of togetherness in their culture. 

As he got further and further into Terra Cave, Janus noticed an abundance of orange-badged Enlightened Ones from Zeal Research and Tech. They were mostly heading in and out of a tunnel directly ahead of him. Deciding to check it out, the boy walked that way. As he drew closer, he saw many men and women clustered around what appeared to be crude drawings on the cave wall. One of the people was Gaspar. 

The Guru of Time caught sight of Janus. "What are you doing out and about? I thought I left Schala with instructions to watch you. I can't baby-sit you two all the time, you know. Now, go back directly!" 

The prince shrugged and sneered. "I go where I please, Gaspar. You of all people should know that." He looked the wall over. "Huh. Rather shoddy artwork I must say." 

"Shows how much you know of primitive art. This is fairly advanced drawing for its age," Gaspar replied. He pointed at the first picture. "It tells a story, if you follow the pictures in order." 

Janus was interested despite himself. "Really? Can you explain it to me?" 

Gaspar beamed at the boy, loving it when he was asked to explain something to someone who actually wanted to listen. "Okay, let's look at the first picture, shall we?" He pointed at the first picture. "Okay, long long ago, the world was covered with these big areas of land covered with plants and they were called jungles. See how there are pictures of plants in this drawing?" 

"Yes." 

"Yeah, well, those are jungles." 

"Oh, okay. It looks like it would be rather weird, all those plants everywhere. We don't have that many plants in Zeal Kingdom do we?" 

"Not that many, no. Anyway, let's move on to the second picture." Together the boy and the Guru of Time moved on to the second picture. "Okay, here we have another jungle picture." 

Janus pointed at some stick-like figures. "Are those people? They look awfully skinny. And look at those terrible toothy creatures! I'm glad we don't have scaly creatures like that anymore!" 

"Yes, apparently they were common back then. We found some of their fossils while digging. Anyway, in this picture, we see these creatures and the humans fighting." And so they were. The toothy creatures killed many humans but the humans killed many of them as well. 

"What's in the next picture?," Janus asked. Gaspar ushered him along. "Oh, look! There's a BIG scaly monster! And it's eating the humans too!," he giggled. The drawing was a bit funny as it showed the humans running in all directions, arms waving, while this huge toothy creature spit fireballs and devoured the fleeing people. On its shoulder was a smaller toothy creature, head thrown back in a roar, displaying jagged teeth. 

"I believe those creatures were known as...well, the name escapes me, but I'm sure they were some sort of lizard, or reptile," Gaspar said, rubbing his chin with one hand in thought. They continued to the next picture that depicted the lizard people and their human adversaries pausing in the fight to stare in horror at the sky where a big red ball was streaking down. 

Janus got an itchy feeling between his shoulders as he looked at that red spot on the wall. Though it was just a picture, he could almost feel the dread these people must have felt upon looking at the flaming mass. He shivered. But why was the picture so upsetting, he wondered. It was only that, a drawing, and a bad one to be sure. So why did he get this odd feeling while looking at it? Shaking his head, he moved along. 

The picture before the last, the one the two now stood gazing at, displayed the flaming star crashing into the ground, setting things on fire, and killing all the toothy creatures and many humans. "Well, at least the star was good for something," he muttered. Gaspar looked at him and silently pointed to the last picture that was further down the wall. 

"Before you say that, take a look at what it was." 

Janus did as he was bid. As he neared the picture, a cold sweat broke out all over his body. He looked at the picture and frowned, slightly relieved, slightly perturbed. "It's...it's nothing but a dark, shapeless mass Gaspar. I can't make out the picture." 

"Look closer, Janus." 

Swallowing, the young prince took a deep breath. He stepped closer to the picture. A vague outline was done in red under the black, coal-like smear that covered the picture, as if the artist couldn't bear to see his own work. Janus nearly had his nose to the wall when....BAM! The picture seemed to stir into life under his very eyes. A name resounded in his head, the same name that was printed in crudely formed letters underneath: LAVOS. 

A wailing screech filled his head. Hot winds stirred his garments, though only he could feel it and see the effects of it. Turning his head with a moan, he stumbled away from the picture and was forced to sit down or be violently sick. 

"Janus? Highness, are you all right?," Gaspar asked in alarm. The prince gasped in gulps of air, moaning. "Janus!" 

"I'm...all right. I was just...so shocked...The picture...it frightened me." 

"I understand. I'm sorry, I should have warned you. Rats! I should have figured it might scare you!," the old Guru stated. "You just rest, okay? I'll get you a glass of water." 

"No! Don't leave me! Don't leave me alone with that...that darkness!" Janus grasped the old man's arm desperately. What he'd seen, it would haunt his nightmares till the day he died. He had seen some huge spiny creature, bigger then the biggest of the toothy monsters had ever been. And he had seen the picture move! He had seen it burrowing into the ground, filling every dark crevice with its essence. And it was hungry! Janus had felt its hunger as the Black Wind swirled around him. He'd felt the entity's ravenous soul reaching out to him, trying to drain him of his life, his very spirit, to feed one vast, all-consuming void within itself. If he were to have stayed a moment longer, it would have devoured him, he was certain... 

"There you are! I thought I told you to wait for me outside till I was done!" It was Schala. The princess approached Janus and Gaspar with an angry scowl on her face. "You have a lot of explaining to do, young man." 

Her brother opened his mouth to speak, but Gaspar interjected. "Just a minute Schala. He's had a fright. You see, I was showing these newly discovered cave drawings to him and he saw one that didn't quite sit well with him." 

"It was dreadful!," Janus whispered, shuddering. Alfador crawled into his master's lap and snuggled up to his chest, purring comfortingly. Schala made a small noise and knelt down beside her sibling. She gave him a hug and he put his face in her shoulder, not quite able to erase the images he'd seen. 

"It's all right, Janus. I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was just worried is all," she told him. "I get so scared when you-" 

"Everyone, shape up! Queen Zeal is arriving!," an Enlightened researcher shouted. Both Earthbound and Zealians hurriedly smoothed back their hair, wiped sweat from their faces, and tried to look presentable. 

"Momma? Here?," Janus exclaimed in shock. Him and Schala looked at each other and shrugged. They hardly saw the Queen, but both treasured the time they spent with her, which wasn't much of late. Who cared why she was there? They got to see her, at least. 

Queen Zeal was a tall, attractive woman with dark eyes that glowed with an intense, almost feverish light. This was odd, but no one really noticed. Her long blue hair was spiked in the latest of Zealian fashions and accented the majestic crown that sat upon her head. Her features were much like Janus's. She had delicate, high cheekbones, slanted eyes, and a tender, slightly sneering set of lips. Her long gown of orange and indigo, (the royal colors), seemed to float around her as she walked briskly down the tunnel. The torchlight reflected off of her rings and bracelets and crown, making her seem surrounded by an aura of rainbows. 

Janus leapt off the floor and ran up to her, throwing his arms around her waist. "Hello, momma! I'm so glad to see you!," he cried. 

"What the....Oh, hello, Janus! Where did you come from?," she asked, startled by his sudden appearance. "Is your sister with you?" 

"I came with Schala, yes, and Gaspar. Have you missed me?" 

"Of course, dear. You know I have...." The Queen said this in a vague, rather confused way, as if she didn't quite understand what he was saying. She smiled at him, absently brushing his hair out of his face. "I really must talk with Schala. Where is she, Janus?" 

He waved a hand behind him. "Back there. Oh, stay and talk with me for a bit? I've missed you so much! I have so much I need to tell you? Have you met Alfador? He's my new cat and-" He stopped. His mother was still smiling but had that confused look again.

"Momma, what's wrong?" 

"Hmm? Nothing is wrong, dear. Where is your sister?" 

Janus took a step back and studied Queen Zeal with a perplexed look. The woman cocked her head to one side, still smiling in that confused way. 

"Why do you stare at me so, child? Are you not glad to see me? Where is Schala?," she asked. Though her voice sounded fine, it had the odd repetitive sound of a machine repeating data. "Janus? I asked you, why do you stare at me?" 

Janus shook his head to clear it and asked, "Are you feeling well today, momma? You seem, different." 

The Queen laughed, though it sounded like a false laugh, the type a person gives when they really don't understand a joke but want to be polite. "Nothing is wrong, my son. What gives you that idea?" She stepped up to him and placed an affectionate arm around his shoulders. But the embrace seemed empty, as if his mother were missing something. She laughed again and kissed him on the forehead. It felt as if a needle had pierced his brain. Janus gasped and clutched his head. The pains were gone, but the memory of them remained. Had it not been for his mother's arm around him, he would have backed away. 

Queen Zeal stroked his hair absently, like the way he did to Alfador. He felt sick again. This wasn't his mother, only some sort of shell, some outer covering. Why was she acting like this? He noticed Schala and Gaspar coming up the tunnel. Queen Zeal saw them, gave a glad cry, and approached, withdrawing her arm from around his shoulders so fast he nearly did a spin. 

A surge of jealousy welled in the prince's heart as he watched his sister receive a big hug and kiss on the cheek from his mother, which was returned warmly. But he couldn't hate Schala, he told himself bitterly. It wasn't her fault he wasn't as well liked as she was. He came after the Queen and stood on her other side, wedging between her and Gaspar till they let him in. 

"I've been looking for you Schala," Queen Zeal said. "I have things I need to discuss with you. BIG things! But first, I need to show you something." Without waiting to hear Schala's reply, she took her daughter's arm and started dragging her along down the tunnel. Both Gaspar and Janus were forced to hurry to keep up. Finally they reached the end of the tunnel where the energy out-flow was located. 

A hole had been dug deep into the cave floor and workers were in the pit now, using picks and shovels to try and dig to the power source. There was energy leaking everywhere in greenish splashes of light that oozed from cracks in the walls and floor. Queen Zeal took a deep breath and exhaled with a sound of delight. 

"Isn't it a beautiful sight, my dear Schala? All this power, given to us by a creature so beyond us that we couldn't explain his origins, until today. He is a traveler from a distant world, an entity of supreme power, one like the world has never seen before," Zeal said, her eyes reflecting the eerie green light. 

"I suppose it's rather pretty, Mother, but I find the way the light keeps pulsing like that gives me quite a head-ache," Schala returned, faintly. Janus crept up beside Zeal and put his hand in hers. She looked down at him as if seeing him for the first time. 

"My dear Janus, what are you doing here?," she asked. 

He stared at her in dismay. "Momma, I've always been here. I never left." 

The Queen frowned. "You mean to say you've been here in this cave the whole time?" 

"Only since this morning....Momma, don't you remember speaking to me when you arrived?" He wanted to scream at her, to hit her, to tell his mother to stop playing around and be normal but instead, she gave that confused laugh. 

"Oh, yes. I forgot! How silly of me!" The Queen of Zeal Kingdom patted his head, and turned to Schala. She whispered none to softly, "Schala, I don't mean to alarm you but I'm afraid your dear little brother may have lost his mind." When Schala stared at her in revolted shock at what she'd said, the woman continued, "Oh, don't worry. He's harmless. But keep and eye on him, would you? I don't want word of this to get out. It would be a major scandal and he is much too sensitive to be put away, poor darling." 

"Mother, what are you saying?!," Schala demanded in puzzled horror. But her mother wasn't listening, she was pointing at the pendant the girl wore around her neck. 

"Daughter, look at your pendant! It's...glowing!" 

Schala looked down and gaped. The red Dreamstone pendant she wore was pulsating and the green energy secreted from the cracks was rising as if on a string to the stone where it was absorbed. Queen Zeal clapped her hands like a schoolgirl and laughed, this time in genuine pleasure. 

"Oh, yes! Now, the Mamon Machine will be completed, just as Master Lavos had planned!," she cried excitedly. Janus stiffened at the name. Lavos! That horrible spiky creature! Schala, on the other hand, was confused even more. 

"Lavos? Mamon Machine?! Mother, you're talking gibberish!," the girl exclaimed in fear, backing away. But Zeal took her daughter's hands in her own and held them tightly, staring into the princess's eyes. 

"No, my dear child! All will be explained as promised. I merely wanted you to see this chamber and to feel the awesome power of Lavos. We are Enlightened, Schala, yet we are mortal. With the power of Lavos behind us, we will become gods!" She released her daughter and turned to Gaspar who had been silent the whole time out of shock and fear. The Queen was acting very peculiar, even for being under stress. 

"I want you to call the Council. Schala will attend as will you and your other respective Gurus. I have received word from Belthazar that the Mamon Machine is completed save for the vital energy-transmitting device. But thanks to this marvelous stroke of luck, Schala's pendant will do the same thing and save us time and energy building it. And of course, we must discuss other things as well," Zeal told Gaspar whom nodded and hurried off, shaking his head in bafflement. Schala wore the same look. 

"I just don't understand, Mother. Discuss what things? What is this Mamon Machine? Who is Lavos?" 

Queen Zeal laughed, and as she laughed, the royal children drew close together, and held each other tightly. This wasn't their mother, not by a long shot. This was a demon with her face but the real her was missing. "I'm talking about BIG things, Schala! Big things I want you to be a part of. Only you can make these things happen, my precious daughter, only you can help me lead our people into a golden age like the world has never seen!" 


	5. A Test of Courage

****

The Story Of Magus Chapter Four 

****

A Test of Courage 

By ZealPropht 

"The Council will now come to order," Queen Zeal announced as she took her seat in an ornate throne at the head of a large round table. To her right was Schala, looking upset and confused. The princess really didn't know what to make of her mother's behavior or why she had been called to sit on the Council. Zeal had never let her before, so why start now? Janus had been denied access, though she had protested. Queen Zeal had laughed at the notion and asked that the prince be returned to his room where he was to stay. Janus had dared make protests and was told quite coldly that guards would escort him if nessissary. Schala didn't want her brother to be "escorted" to his room by the guards like some prisoner, so she volunteered to take him. 

He had stared at her is shocked silence and hurt dismay as they walked. "It will always be this way, won't it?" 

"What will, Janus?" she had asked. 

"You will always have to protect me. I will never be able to stand up for myself because of who I am and what I represent." 

Schala had forced a laugh. "Don't be silly. I just didn't want you to get into trouble. Mother is...under the weather today and we should try and humor her." 

Janus had assumed the most vicious of expressions right then. His features twisted into the most dreadful she had ever seen. "That wasn't our Mother, Schala, and you know it. It wasn't her at all. I don't want you to be around her. She might hurt you." 

"That's terrible, Janus! You shouldn't say things like that." 

"You know I speak the truth. That Lavos...It's changed her, and I don't want it to change you too." 

Another forced laugh. "What makes you think it will?" But Janus just shook his head, refusing to say anything. This had puzzled Schala. It wasn't like Janus to keep secrets from her. "Janus, what's wrong? You seem...well, moodier then usual." 

He had looked at her sharply and said, "I just think that Lavos-thing is bad, okay? I don't want you around it!" 

Schala shook her head and returned her attention to the present. Poor Janus! He had seemed so adamant, yet he wouldn't tell why. But the princess could not very well deny an order by her mother to attend the Council. She would have to try and push the dark thoughts her brother had instilled in her aside, lest they unnerve her. 

Melchior sat beside her, puffing his pipe, disapproval on his features. The old weapon's master looked so angry in fact, that his bushy eyebrows had drawn together tightly over his dark eyes so that it seemed like a thundercloud was forming in front of him. 

To the left of the Queen was Gasper and Belthazar, (and of course, the ever present Nu who was drowsily swaying in his seat.) The rest of the chairs were filled with the other various assorted Council members, including Dalton, who had managed to clean himself up to look decidedly handsome and almost like a soldier. His uniform was spotless and his hair was pulled back by a thong of leather. His jeweled eye-patch twinkled in the lamp glow. 

The sun was setting and the red-orange glow spilled into the room, creating pools of color on the floor that the magical lamps did nothing to diminish. The windows had been opened to keep the room cool and fresh for the many people gathered within. The men and women stirred to attention and focused on their Queen. 

"My loyal subjects," Queen Zeal began, rising and placing her hands on the table before her, "I have asked you here this evening to discuss very important matters that concern not only us but the fate of the very Kingdom we call home. As you all know, the Earthbound have discovered a recently unheard of power, now called Lavos, buried inside the depths of a mining tunnel on Terra Continent. Furthermore, you all have surely heard the rumors of a giant machine being built by our own respected Guru of Reason, Belthazar." 

Queen Zeal smiled at said Guru. "I am happy to confirm those rumors at last. Belthazar has indeed created an ingenious piece of work designed to tap the power of Lavos. It will be named the Mamon Machine-" She stopped and gestured to Belthazar. "But perhaps the creator might like the chance to speak of his creation." 

All eyes turned to look at the Guru of Reason who beamed at the Queen. He rose from his seat as she sat back down. "Thank you, your Majesty. Yes, the Mamon Machine is designed to collect the power secreted from Lavos and to draw it into the core. Then, it may be distributed as her Majesty sees fit." He paused. "It took my staff a very long time to finish this project and while the Mamon Machine is ready for use, it lacks one thing.... a power transmitter, a form of energy conduit to move the un-harvested power of Lavos into the inner core." He looked around. "Her Majesty has informed me that one of you present has such an item." 

The gathered Council looked at each other in eager excitement, waiting to see who it was who had such an object. Melchior saw Schala flinch out of the corner of his eye. Her hand drifted to her Dreamstone pendant, the one her Father gave her on her fifth birthday. Her slender fingers curled around it, more, it seemed, to hide it then to reassure herself of its presence. 

Finally, when no one spoke up, the Council started to ask who this person was. Queen Zeal held up one hand for peace. Belthazar resumed his seat. The Nu promptly fell over with its head on his shoulder. Belthazar pushed it off, smacked it across its face a few times, and it opened its eyes blearily. 

"The person who possesses such a gift amongst us is none other then my own daughter, Schala!" the Queen stated. The gathered people stared at the princess who blushed and looked like she wanted to become invisible. "I have discovered that her pendant can draw the power to her, and if it is possible, she shall be able to send this power to the Mamon Machine to be used." 

"What uses could this power be used for, my Queen?" asked Dalton. The Gurus gnashed their teeth at the captain but he ignored them. "Could it be used for weapons? Perhaps we could construct another Blackbird and use the power as fuel..." 

Gaspar leaned forward angrily, though Belthazar laid a restraining hand on his arm. The Guru of Time quivered with indignation as well, but it was Melchior who spoke his friend's thoughts. 

"You impudent fool! Don't be absurd!" he growled fiercely. "The Power of Lavos should be used for the benefit of the entire Kingdom, not just for you." 

Dalton sneered. "I am thinking of the Kingdom, you doddering, useless Guru! Zeal needs better weapons to be protected, a crack fighting force to-" 

"Protect it from what?!" Gaspar snarled, despite Belthazar's warning squeeze to his arm. "Everyone knows that the Eternal Kingdom of Zeal has been at peace for countless millennia! You speak of squandering these unique resources on pointless items." He smiled dangerously. "Or perhaps you have ideals for the throne, eh Dalton? Is that why you seek more powerful weapons?" 

This of course threw the Council into uproar, Dalton's supporters standing up and shouting while Gaspar and Melchior both attacked them mercilessly with barbs and sharp retorts. This might have gone on for much longer had Queen Zeal not intervened. 

"ENOUGH! This bickering amongst us is not the proper way to conduct any sort of Council!" Queen Zeal glared at the Guru's who had started the mess, much to Dalton's smug pleasure. "But I must say, though, that despite it's improper timing and introduction, I believe Guru Gaspar and Guru Melchior have valid points." 

The room quieted instantly and resumed their seats, respectful of their monarch's temper. Schala wished dearly that Janus had been allowed to sit in on the Council. She needed his soothing, unruffled calm, despite its coldness, to ease her turbulent thoughts and still her beating heart. Once again his warning played through her mind. 

The smug look on Dalton's face vanished as he heard what the Queen said. "What?!" he exclaimed. 

The Queen laughed, a disturbing sound to all present. "Oh, Dalton! You really are simple minded! Who needs weapons when we can be Gods?" 

The room went dead still, the only sound the Queen's eerie laughter. The clouds now obscured the sun and the harsh magical light illuminated the room brightly. Warm wind drifted through the open window and stirred her hair, making her face seem unreal and ghostly. 

"We shall be Gods, a race of immortals basking in the power of Lavos. I have felt its power! It has opened my eyes to the true reason for the Enlightened. We were meant to not only control magic, but to become magic! By becoming one with Lavos, we shall usher in a new era where Enlightened are supreme. The Eternal Kingdom will be eternal forever!" She lowered her voice. "All you have to do is accept the power of Lavos into yourselves." 

The gathered Enlightened looked at each other nervously. Belthazar frowned and mumbled beneath his beard. Schala put her hand to her pendant and gasped. It was pulsing with energy! Queen Zeal saw this, and pulled Schala to her feet. 

"Behold! A sign from Lavos to my daughter! Lavos beckons! We have only to follow. Come, my people! Come with me to the Mamon Room and feel the awesome power of Lavos!" Dragging Schala with by one arm, Queen Zeal rushed from the room. The surprised Council hurriedly scrambled out of their seats after her. The last ones to leave were, of course, the Gurus. They looked at each other unhappily and went after the rest of the Council, their hearts heavy with dread. 

.

Janus fumed before the massive steel door that bore the Zealian royal crest upon it. Despite his best efforts to open it, he could find no seams or handle to pull, nor any secret levers or buttons. What good is a door, he thought angrily to himself, if you can't open it or make it budge? 

Despite being told to stay in his room, the young prince was far too headstrong to obey an order like that. After all, he was royalty! He gave orders, not took them. He had wandered around the palace, looking for something to do for the past fifteen minutes. Boredom was a feeling he was accustomed to, and even Alfador couldn't relieve it all the time. He had finally found a door he hadn't seen before and the blasted thing wouldn't open. It was like finding a present but you can't break the seal. 

Alfador was curled up in a plant stand sleeping as he waited for his human master to give up the useless pummeling upon the door. Suddenly, his keen ears detected the sound of approaching strangers. He hissed and fuzzed and leapt out of the plant. Janus whirled and listened closely. He heard nothing. 

"Alfador, you crazy cat! Don't scare me like-" 

"Ouch! Mother, stop! Ouch! You're hurting me!" 

Janus heard his sister's voice, faint but distinct, coming nearer. He looked around franticly for a place to hide. All that was near was the plant and an alcove in the wall. The plant was small and the alcove really big. But perhaps together...Not wasting a minute, he grabbed the plant and dragged it across the floor till it stood in a corner of the alcove. He knelt down behind the plant. 

"Alfador! C'mere boy!" He waved for the cat to come over. The violet critter mewed, loudly enough so that Janus winced, and ran over, crawling into his lap. The boy waited, heart pounding in his ears. Minutes passed. Just when he thought it might be safe to get up from his hidden location, Queen Zeal walked right passed the alcove, Schala behind her, her arm in what looked to be a painfully tight grip. Behind them came the Council, including Captain Dalton, looking far grander then that day Janus had seen him drunk, and the Gurus. But what were they all doing here? 

Janus crept from behind the plant and slid along the wall till he was by the corner. He peered cautiously around the bend and watched the proceedings. His mother had placed Schala in front of the door. His sister looked so miserable as she rubbed her arm where Zeal's fingers had bruised her. Janus silently willed her strength. Almost as if she felt the love he tried to send, she stood a little straighter and stopped rubbing her arm. 

"Now Schala," Queen Zeal began, "I want you to use your pendant and open this door to the Mamon Room." Her daughter stood a little defiantly. 

"And if I don't?" she said, only a slight tremble in her voice. Her mother towered over her. 

"You dare defy me? I am your mother! You will do as I say Schala!" The Queen pointed a finger at the door with the crest, her movements causing her bracelets to jingle with a musical sound. "Now, open the door!" 

"Very well," the girl conceded. She put both hands around her pendant as if in prayer and bowed her head, summoning the magical powers within her. Next she raised her arms in front of her, her chin still to her chest. Her pendant began to glow with the eerie green light as it had done in the Council room, and before that, in the Lavos Cave. Dalton suddenly disconnected from the group and began to head in Janus's direction. The prince quickly ran back to his hiding place and hid in the nick of time as Dalton came around the corner. 

"Stupid pants!" he muttered quietly, grasping the seat of his trousers and pulling down and wiggling his rear-end. Janus put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Though it wasn't a sight Janus had wanted to see, it was definitely hilarious. There was an unusual metallic sound and Janus knew Schala had succeeded in breaking the seal on the steel door. Dalton turned and hurried back to join the group. Janus snuck swiftly after him and saw the Council members following the Queen into the room beyond the door. Schala still stood outside looking wan and pale. After the last of the people had entered, she stepped inside and made a gesture. The door began to slide shut. Janus dropped Alfador and ran for the door, wedging his way in before it slammed shut, leaving his cat outside. 

The prince looked around in awe; his mouth hanging open like that of a dunce, so incredible was the sight. The room was large, vaulted, and poorly lit by orangish lights that surrounded the object of his stupteficatition. 

The Mamon Machine was humongous, looking like some monstrous heart made of wires and metal, it's shadowy caverns seeming to pulsate with the echo of Schala's pendant. Lights blinked on and off randomly it seemed in different areas across the mottled Dreamstone surface. 

Janus wandered around the room till he had a clear view of the proceedings. He noticed his teachers, the three Gurus, standing in the very back, away from the main group. Melchior's expression caught his eye. It was one of loathing and, strange enough, thoughtfulness as if his mind were racing. 

"Come forward, Schala. Invoke your pendant yet again and let our people feel the tremendous power of Lavos!" Queen Zeal commanded of her daughter. Schala moved almost as if in a trance and repeated her movements she had done to open the sealed door. The lights around the Mamon Machine began to whirl crazily and a thrumming sound pervaded the room. The wires and tubes leading into the inner core began o fill with the sickly green energy that Lavos gave off in the cave. The very air crackled with that power, seeping into every pore and fiber of every person present. 

Janus felt a delicious tingling begin in his chest and spread through his limbs and stomach. It was irresistible. He wanted to give in to that energy, to surrender to the sensations. Then suddenly, the Black Wind cut through it like a knife, howling and wailing in his skull, mixed with the horrible screech of Lavos, the same one he'd heard in the cave. It slammed into his thoughts like ice water, jolting him from the seductive dream and into reality. He looked around at everyone, only to see they suffered similar fates. Only Schala and the Nu seemed unaffected. But Schala was in her magic-induced trance and the Nu was asleep so there was no help to be found from them. 

Janus knew he had to stop the machine somehow, but other then disrupting his sister's trance, which might very well prove fatal for the both of them, he had to find another way. The young prince ran up to Belthazar, since it was obvious that he'd built it, and tried to shake him to his senses. But all Janus got was a snort, a giggle, and a sigh of contentment. The next person he tried was Melchior. 

The old weapon's master kept jerking and mumbling to himself. Janus grabbed him and shook the old man hard. "Guru Melchior! Snap out of it! I need your help!" 

Something must have penetrated because the Guru of Life stiffened, blinked, and shook his head to clear it. "Wh-what happened? Janus? Where are we? I don't quite remember-" Then he saw the Mamon Machine. "Of course! I remember now!" He looked at Janus as if seeing him for the first time. "Janus, what...? No, never mind. Right now I need your help in stopping that thing." 

Janus nodded wordlessly. Together, they approached the Mamon Machine cautiously. Queen Zeal stood beside Schala, eyes closed, face radiant from the energy flowing wildly into her and several of the Council members. While all were receiving power, only handfuls were getting strong amounts yet at the same time, others weren't receiving half the smallest amount. 

"Maybe if we cut the main power-line, it will shut down the whole thing," Melchior said. Janus nodded. "The problem is, I can't reach the main line." He looked at Janus suddenly and smiled. The boy gulped for he knew what was coming. 

"Okay, I'll do it. But I'll need a weapon...something strong to cut the metal with." 

Melchior reached into his robes and produced out of seemingly no-where a blade that looked like a red knife. "Here, take this. I'll give you a boost." Janus accepted the knife and slid it into his pants to hold it securely while Melchior lifted him up, with much grunting and puffing, till he could reach the wires and scramble up into the electrical forest of flashing lights. He squirmed his way till he found the large metal tube that held the inner core in place. 

Ever so carefully, Janus removed the knife from his waistband and began to saw through the tube. As he did, the lights began to slow their dizzying spin, and the energy flowing within grew less and less. Finally the knife broke through the other side and the Mamon Machine ground to a halt. As it did, the Council Members came out of their trances, some looking about in confusion, some smiling up at the Mamon Machine with a feverish gleam in their eyes just like Queen Zeal. The sudden release from the Machine caused an energy backlash that hit Schala hard. She screamed and crumpled to her knees. 

"Schala!" Janus cried, forgetting for a moment he wasn't supposed to be there. Everyone looked up and saw him, the knife, and the ragged cut he made through the tube. He saw his mother's face go dead white with fury. 

"Janus! What have you done?! You've wrecked the Mamon Machine, you stupid boy!" she howled. "Traitor! Traitor!!" At her side, Dalton raised his own feverish gaze to the prince. 

"I say you let me teach him to mess with the all mighty Lavos, my Queen. Let the brat defend himself with his puny red knife, if he can!" 

Schala had recovered enough to utter a despairing, "No! Don't hurt my little brother, Dalton! I swear I'll kill you if you do!" 

"Stop!" Melchior stepped forward. His friends regarded him silently. They hadn't been effected much by the Mamon Machine due to their strength of character and will. They knew he was going to do something really stupid. "Janus didn't do it. I cut the tube and told Janus to climb up there and handed him the knife. I was going to frame him. But I just can't do it." 

Dalton sneered. "Oh, yeah? Well, how did you smuggle him in without me knowing about it?" 

"When you all were soaking up Lavos's power I teleported him in," Melchior replied quickly. Dalton stared at the weapon's master for a time. 

"Okay, I believe ya. But if Janus isn't the traitor, then you are. And the punishments for a traitor is still the same. Death!" To Queen Zeal, Dalton said, "Now do you see why I asked for better weapons? Look what happens when no one listens to me!" 

But Zeal wasn't listening. She was staring at Melchior with such hatred that she seemed utterly transformed into some monster with Zeal's face. "Melchior, Guru of Life and former Weapon's Master, I will spare you your life," she spat coldly. Everyone stared at her in shock. "But do not think you shall not escape my wrath! I sentence you to exile on Mt. Woe until I summon you, which won't be for a very, very long time. Dalton, escort Guru Melchior to his house where he shall gather his belongings and then take him to Mt. Woe and see he is made...comfortable there." 

Melchior had gone as white as his hair with dread, as if Queen Zeal had killed him and drained his blood on the spot. Dalton saluted sharply and shoved Melchior forward. The Guru of Life passed by his two sorrowful friends without a word or a glance. Janus watched him go. He felt more confused then sorrowful. Why had Melchior taken the punishment for them both when they were both to blame? 

"As for you, young man...." 

Janus swallowed hard and looked at his mother who stood tapping one foot with her hands on her hips. "Yes, momma?" 

"Come down from there at once and give me a hug! I'm so sorry I suspected you of anything, Janus. You must have been so scared! But it's okay now. Momma has taken care of everything..." Queen Zeal held out her arms to him as she used to do those few years when she actually cared about him. But as Janus slid down the wires and stepped into her embrace, he knew in that instant his mother was gone and this monster that inhabited her body had to be destroyed. 

__

Melchior was taken to Mt. Woe by Dalton and his team of specially trained butchers who called themselves soldiers and left there, encased in black of ice. Schala recovered from her ordeal with the Mamon Machine but was now forced into daily transfer sessions of the power. The Machine itself was repaired by Belthazar and put back into full operation. Queen Zeal announced publicly that anyone caught conspiring against Lavos would suffer the same fate as Melchior. As for Janus, though he couldn't find another way to sabotage the Machine, he slowly began to dedicate his protection to the weakening flower of his love and trust.... his sister. 


	6. Brave the Darkness

**The Story Of Magus Chapter Five**

**Brave The Darkness**

By ZealPropht 

Janus stared at the wall, the same wall in fact, that he's stared at for the past three days. It didn't change color, it didn't move, even the patterns of gold leaf were in the same places they had been ever since the wall had been built, and yet Janus stared at it as if he expected it to jump up and do something wonderful. After Queen Zeal had made sure he was all right, after the incident with the Mammon Machine, she'd sent him with Captain Dalton to escort him back to his room. No amount of pleading could save him from being watched like a prisoner. Even his sister couldn't have saved him this time. He'd been confined to his room ever since and Schala was forced to come daily and show the citizens of Zeal the power of Lavos. Queen Zeal had given impassioned speeches during these energy transfers and now the Enlightened actually believed they were going to become gods. 

Today, the Mammon Machine was being moved to the newly completed Ocean Palace where Queen Zeal would put the contraption into full production, with the help of Schala's pendant of course. Janus knew he had to find a way to stop his sister from going or his Mother from raising Lavos from the Earth. But, how? 

"Janus? I'm back," Schala announced, stepping past the guards who were posted at the door. Janus didn't look up or answer her, his eyes stilled stared at the wall, lost in his own thoughts. Alfador sat at his feet, pawing at him in vain. The lavender cat meowed at Schala as if asking her to do something to snap his master out of his own little world. 

"Guards, leave us," the princess commanded. It was odd for her to issue commands like that but Janus guessed she probably wanted to talk to him about something important. The guards bowed and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind them. But by the jingle of their armor and weapons, the were still outside with no intention of actually leaving. After all, Queen Zeal had given the order that Prince Janus was to be watched. If the princess wanted privacy with her brother, that was all well and good, but they weren't about to desert their posts. 

Schala knelt down by her brother's chair and took one of his small, cool hands in hers. She was startled to hear him speak, for it was an abrupt sound, almost a whisper and yet it resounded in her ears as if he had shouted. 

"Well, what could drag you away from your duties long enough to talk to me? You haven't listened to my warnings, despite how often I've told you. If you won't listen to me, I don't see why I should listen to anything you have to say," he pouted. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her hurt expression, the confused pain in her eyes. But she didn't pull away. 

"Let me help you, Janus. Whatever the problem is, we can face it together if you'll only open up to me. What happened in the Mammon Room? I'm sure Melchior didn't mean what he said about framing you..." 

Janus snatched his hand away and rose to his feet in anger, turning his back on her. "That's not it at all! It isn't about Melchior or me or you or even Mother! It's about Lavos, Schala. Lavos!" He began to pace, hands behind his back. Schala watched for a moment in silence. It was eerie. It made him feel itchy between his shoulders the way she looked at him, as if she were trying to read his thoughts. 

Finally she said, "What about Lavos?" 

"It's evil, Schala! It must be destroyed. Melchior had the right idea about making the Mammon Machine useless. I only wish I had created more damage." He stopped pacing and lifted one arm by his ear, nervously adjusting the cuff of his right sleeve. "But why, oh, why did Melchior have to take the blame? He should have told Mother the truth. He should have told them all what really happened." 

Schala stared at her little brother as if he were a stranger. The lack of emotion in her voice when she spoke shocked him. "Janus," she whispered. "I feel I barely know you. Tell me what happened in there. I can't help you if you stay bottled up." 

Janus turned to her. His lower lip trembled. Schala reached for him but he backed away. "No, I'm fine, really." He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and took a deep breath. "You want to know what happened? All right. I'll tell you. Lavos took control of everyone, draining their life energies to feed itself. It was horrible and hideous. If my will hadn't been strong enough, I would have given in to Lavos, letting him take my energy. But I didn't give in, I fought him." His eyes shone with a brief surge of pride. "And I won! I was able to free myself of Lavos' power and I freed Melchior as well." Janus related the events that took place. "You see, Melchior saved me from Mother but in return gave up his home and freedom. I must avenge the wrong I have done him. I should have taken his place." 

Schala shook her head in wonderment. "Janus, I don't understand. Melchior admitted to having set you up. He was in the wrong Janus, not you. Why do you feel guilty? You should be happy that he is gone! I know I am. He wasn't a good person." 

Janus regarded his sister with shock. "Schala, what do you mean? You always liked Melchior." He frowned, this wasn't Schala's normal behavior. His sister shrugged her slender shoulders. 

"Who needs him? He was always of doubtful character....And Janus, I think you should reconsider about Lavos. Perhaps you are just too young to understand his power. Mother is very smart and she wouldn't do anything to hurt Zeal Kingdom. Maybe if you let yourself become one with the power of Lavos..." 

"But, it feels wrong! All that energy, draining the life from everyone...How can it possibly be right? I won't give in, Schala, I can't!" 

She looked at him sadly, like his mother had done in the Lavos Cave, a mixture of confusion and humor. "Then I'm afraid I can't call you brother any longer. I offered you a choice, Janus, to come spend your life with me as a god, to be with me forever. But you have turned me down. Now I must leave you, forever. Good-bye, Janus." The princess rose from the floor and left without a further word. 

"No, Schala! Wait! I'm sorry! Come back!," Janus cried in a sudden panic. "I'm sorry!" Janus shook his head and closed his eyes. This wasn't real! Schala would never say that. It wasn't and couldn't be real! Tears welled under his closed eyelids. They stung with their salty touch. "Schala....come back...." 

Janus opened his eyes with a start. He wiped at his bury vision, drying the tears and wiping out the grit from the corners of his eyes. He was still seated in his chair in front of the same wall. Apparently, he had dozed off. "What a weird dream," he said to himself shakily. "What could it mean?" 

A knock resounded on his bedroom door. One of the guards opened it and Schala walked in. Janus gulped and wondered if he was dreaming again. But this Schala looked different. While the dream Schala was glowing with health, this one was the exact opposite. Her face was pale and drawn, her hair, once a vibrant blue, now a faded powder blue that only deepened the rings around her glorious eyes. She walked slowly as if each movement were a strain. But from somewhere inside her she managed a smile for her brother. "Hello, Janus. I came to see you before I leave. Mother wants me there to help move the Mammon Machine to the Ocean Palace and I don't know how long I'll be gone." 

Janus caught the hint of a tear in her eyes. He rose to his feet and took her hand, pulling her along till she consented and took his place in the chair. "You make it sound as if you won't be coming back," he accused. A lump started to form in his throat. "You will come back, won't you Schala?" No, not this, he thought. Please, anything but losing his sister. The girl sighed and tried to laugh. 

"Of course I will silly! It won't be as if I'm really gone, you know. I'll just be a little further away..." 

Janus grasped her hands in his and knelt at her feet. "What are you saying, Schala?," he whispered, dread squeezing the air from him. Or was that because of the heat rising in the room? He wiped his brow with his sleeve and then absently fiddled with the cuff, wishing for a breeze. In the back of his mind he felt the stirring of a warm wind, though his thoughts were so occupied he didn't realize what that meant. 

His sister stroked his cheek and brushed his hair out of his face, looking at him intently as if she were memorizing his features. "I'm tired, Janus, so very tired. The demands of Lavos are weighing heavily on me. I don't know how much longer I can win out against him." 

Her brother hugged her. "Try, Schala. I can't live without you. If you go, I'll be so lonely. Only you ever truly understand me. What will I do without you? Promise me you'll come back! Don't let Lavos destroy you as it did Mother. Fight against the energy. Don't give in." He felt a cold chain slipped over his head and around his neck. "What's this?" He drew back and looked at the medallion. It was platinum, with a disk hanging from the chain. On the disk was the Zealian royal crest on one side and on the other was the picture of two hearts enter twined, surrounded by the elements but held together by a golden chain in their centers. 

"This amulet used to belong to Father before he died. Melchior retrieved it after they found his body. It has always protected me and now I want you to have it. Wear it always." 

"I will, I swear it." His eyes found hers. "Please don't go Schala! I can't let you walk to your death." 

The princess folded her hands in her lap. "I don't plan on dying, Janus! What ever gave you that idea?," she replied with a genuine laugh, "Here I come in to say good-bye and you act as if I'm going to leap off the parapets! I might be gone for a few days, that's it." 

"B-But, you said you didn't know how long you could last...," Janus stammered. Schala laughed again. 

"I just meant that I might need to quit before I over exert myself. Honestly, Janus! You have to try to be less morbid. You'll scare yourself over nothing." 

"I guess you're right. But please, listen to what I said?" 

"I will, and I'll take care of Mother too." 

At this, Janus exploded. "She's not our Mother, Schala! Why do you still pretend she is? This thing with her face and her voice is soulless, with no feelings, no life! It's dead, like all machines are dead. You might as well love the Mammon Machine for all the response you'll get." 

Schala didn't reply at first, though her mouth moved in words she didn't say. Finally, she nodded. "You're right, little brother. She is changed. Lavos did something to her, but I must try to reason with her one last time. That is why I must go to the Ocean Palace with her." 

Another knock rang on the door. The guard opened it and a servant girl curtsied. "Mistress Schala, Queen Zeal has sent me to fetch you." 

The princess nodded. "All right, I'm coming." To her brother, she said, "Chin up, now. Don't make a scene over nothing." She hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Pulling away, she stepped over to the servant girl, preparing to leave. 

Janus called out in a panic, "I love you, Schala!" Even he himself was startled by how lost and small his voice sounded as he said those words. But his sister smiled with such glowing warmth that he knew with certainty that he had for perhaps the first time in his life, made someone he cared about truly happy. 

Schala blew him a quick kiss and said, "And I love you too, Janus, more then you will ever know." The door closed behind her with such a finality that it made Janus tremble. He had to escape and follow her, just to make sure she stayed all right. But with the guards at his door, there was little chance of that right away. He'd just have to be patient and wait. 

. 

It was after midnight, the bustle in the palace had long since died, leaving everything so quiet a pin could drop and be heard for miles. The two guards had settled down in chairs, arms crossed over their chests, snoring. Janus quietly opened his window and lowered the rope made out of his blankets from the balcony. He slid down the makeshift rope with ease and jumped the last four feet. He crept through the garden and found a door that was open. 

The door led into the Grand Council but the huge room was deserted. A great beam of orange light was in the center of the room. This was obviously a temporary skygate, designed to move the Mammon Machine to the Ocean Palace. He took a step towards it- 

"I wouldn't, if I were you, your Highness." 

Janus whirled around in surprise. Dalton emerged from the shadows of a black hole. He stepped out of it's inky blackness but didn't close the swirling shadows behind him. "What do you mean, Dalton? I'm royalty. I can do what I want..." 

The captain laughed. "Your little airs don't have any effect on me, Janus." 

"I didn't give you permission to call me by my name. It's Prince Janus to you!" 

Dalton really laughed at that. "Queen Zeal said you might try to interfere with her plans." He clapped his hands and a huge golem materialized out of the black hole. "So I brought a friend for you to play with. I'd like you to meet Golem Boss Senior." The wizard ran to the beam of light and stepped in. As he faded in the magic beam, he said, "Now, you two play nicely together. Stay occupied long enough for the rest of us to become gods." 

Janus gulped and stared at the Golem Boss Senior. The creature clapped it's hands together and bounced up and down. "I'm gonna pound ya flat, kid!," it shouted. "You'll be so smashed that you'll have to reach up to tie your shoes!" The golem laughed and pounded the floor, shaking it. Janus fell over onto his behind with a thud. 

He wasn't scared, actually. He was peeved, but not scared. 

The golem must have seen this because he cleared his throat nervously. "Um, feel free to run away screaming in terror at any moment before I pound ya good and hard." 

Janus rolled his eyes. "Shut up!" The golem appeared upset. 

"I can't do this! I'm s-scared! You're a big meany!" it wailed, bouncing once, twice, and disappearing. Janus stared at the spot it had stood before and blinked. That was very, very weird. Shrugging, he got off the floor, dusted himself off, and stepped into the teleport beam. If his mother knew he was coming, he should prepare himself for anything. 

. 

"Now, Schala! Raise the pendant," Queen Zeal commanded. The girl did as she was bid. If she didn't, she knew she had little chance of seeing Janus again. Her mother had made that clear in the first few minutes she'd arrived. Guru Belthazar and Guru Gaspar were present as well as several of the Council Members. (The Nu was there as well but no one really cared about it.) The Gurus had been brought against their wills as Schala had. Guards stood nearby, hands on their swords in case they should try anything sneaky. Since Melchior had been exiled for treason, all the Gurus were suspect to suspicion. 

Schala was certain Queen Zeal's threats against Janus' life had all been false. It wasn't in her mother's nature. At least she hoped. There had to be enough of her mother's spirit left to prevent her from harming either of her children. But when Dalton arrived with a smug grin on his face... 

The wizard captain bowed low before Zeal and laughed. "The deed is done. Prince Janus will bother us no more." 

"What?!," Schala exclaimed. This couldn't be right! "Mother?! Is it true?! Did you order the death of my brother?!" She nearly let go of the pendant to attack Dalton. She would rip his eyes out, then his heart. "I don't believe you! Not even you are that cold-blooded! You didn't kill him, Dalton!" To her mother, she cried, "You didn't....Not to Janus...He's a survivor. Like you, and like me. Mother, tell me you didn't hurt him!" 

"Dalton isn't a liar, my daughter," Zeal replied with a laugh. The Queen put her arm around Schala's shaking shoulders. "You are the true heir of Zeal Kingdom. It is fitting that you and you alone to share in the glory of Lavos. Janus was a freak, a blight upon our family, but no longer. No longer! It is only you and me now, my daughter, and together we shall become gods!" 

But Schala wasn't listening. She was staring at the pendant in her hands. The Dreamstone glowed bright green at first then changed to blue, and then a deep, angry red. The floor suddenly lurched. Everyone stumbled but no one fell. 

"What the hell was that?!," Dalton snarled. The floor buckled again, knocking him to the floor. The two Gurus cried out and fought to keep their balance. Another tremor rippled through the room, and then another. Queen Zeal began to laugh insanely. 

"That, Dalton, was Lavos! He is awakening! Can't you feel his power?," the Queen giggled, her voice shrill and eerie her face bathed in the red glow of her daughter's pendant. The air was suddenly filled with a high-pitch shrieking whine. The voice of Lavos tore around the room. The people gathered clutched their heads in pain. Green life energy began to seep from them towards Schala's pendant. Slowly the Council fell to their knees, the Guru's fought with all their might to remain standing. The floor shook and pitched uncontrollably now. Schala gripped her head and screamed loudly, but it was barely heard under the wail of the monster awakening. She couldn't help it. The girl gripped her amulet with shaking hands.

"Janus!" She sobbed his name like a chant to protect her from the evil that was threatening to comsume her mind and soul. "Janus!"

He heard his name being called. Janus looked around himself wildly, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. "Schala? Is that you?" He dodged another group of Dalton's minions who were seeking to waylay unauthorized personel from invading the inner sanctumn of the Ocean Palace. "Schala! Where are you?" The little boy could feel that his sister was in trouble. The Black Wind was blowing against him, buffeting him harshly until he could barely stand. A wave of Schala's pain crashed over him, making him stagger, nearly fainting. Gritting his teeth, with tears of pain glittering in his wide purple eyes, he doubled his speed. "Don't worry! I'm coming! Just hang on for me, please! Don't give in!"

The elevator down to the lower level couldn't seem to move fast enough for the impatient boy. At times, the shaking of the building caused the lift to stutter and drop a few feet before moving again like normal. Janus was terrified that the stupid thing would beak and send him plummeting down the shaft to a very unpleasant death. He nervously adjusted his cuffs and paced on the movng floor, trying his best to keep a part of himself away from the echo of terror and agony that was flooding his senses from his link to his sister. How he wanted to surrender himself to the feelings inside of him, to reach out with his very being to comfort the wounded soul that was reaching out to him for help. But he needed a clear head right now. He needed to make it to the Mamon room, wherever that was. Using his sister like a beacon, he let it guide him as the elevator came to a halt. At last, he found his way into the inner sactumn. 

The Council members lay on the floor, moaning as their dreams crashed down around them along with debris from the crumbling palace. Queen Zeal was oblivious to all this as she stood laughing, her arms raised to embrace the fate Lavos had in store for them all Janus felt a lump rise in his throat at the sight, but quickly fought it down. It was too late to help her. All that mattered now was finding Schala. He surveyed the room, looking for his misisng sibling. The Gurus were helpless as they fought to remain standing, using each other for support as the floor shifted under their feet. Dalton was looking around frantically. He grabbed his monarch by the shoulders, spinning the woman to face him.

"What is going on here?" he demanded. "How are we supposed to become gods if we all perish under the ocean?!" Queen Zeal raised one minicured hand and made a contemptuous flick of her wrist. Energy sizzled from her finger-tips and threw the wizard back. He landed hard on the floor in an undignified sprawl, murder in his one eye as he glared at the chuckling woman.

"You pathetic fool! Don't you understand? We're sacrificing our life energy to Lavos. Though our earthly bodies will be destroyed, our souls will live on as part of him!"

"What?!" Dalton scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a falling chuck of marble. "That's totally insane! How is dying going to make us all powerful?" Queen Zeal merely shrugged her shoulders, indicating that whatever knowledge she had on the subject would be kept to herself. Another chunk of marble hit the ground next to the wizard. Dalton shook his head and opened a portal. "Forget this! What good is immortality if I won't be around to enjoy it?" So saying, he hopped in and vanished. Zeal smirked and turned back to face the Momon Machine.

"So what if one fish got away?" she laughed. "That just means one less person to revel in the glory of being one with the mighty Lavos!"

Large cracks formed everywhere in the walls and celing and dust fell in large quantities into the air, making vision difficult. At first, Janus couldn't see his sister, but he eventually located her trembling form. She sat crumpled on the floor like a broken doll someone had tossed carelessly aside. Her face was wet with tears and she whimpered like a hurt kitten. It tore the prince's heart to see her suffering so. But soon, everything would be okay, he reasoned. They were together now. He would help her escape and then he would make her feel better once the destruction had passed.

"Schala!" Janus cried out. " I'm here, Schala! I've come to save you!" 

Schala turned and looked. It was Janus, and he was still alive! He looked very bruised and battle-worn. Obviously the boy had faced the occupants of the Palace and survived. The lights in the room were flickering madly. The air itself seemed to be distorted. 

"No, Janus! Stay back! It isn't safe here!" the princess cried. But Janus didn't listen. He kept running forward. Suddenly, the air shimmered and several black holes opened. Belthazar and the Nu were sucked into one, their screams being cut short as the portal closed. The Gaspar was drawn into another. An especially large one opened behind Janus. 

The suction was extremely strong. The prince fell to the floor and clawed at the smooth tiles, digging his shoes into the cracks. "Help! Schala, help!" 

Schala started to run to help him but a cold hand gripped her arm with a talon-like hold. Queen Zeal laughed. "Isn't this wonderful Schala? This is the power of gods! We are gods now!" 

"Let me go, Mother!" the girl cried, trying to break the woman's grip. She reached out a hand to her brother, straining to reach him, though still too far away. "Janus! Let me go, Mother! Janus! JANUS!!!" 

The prince was sliding slowly into the portal. His legs were already half in. The Black Wind howled around the room, adding to the shrieking Lavos. "Schala! Help me! I'm scared! Schala!" He felt his hips sucked into the void. "Schala, the darkness! Don't let the darkness get me!" 

Tears streamed down her face. She knew her brother was going to be lost. "Brave the darkness, Janus! Be strong! I love you, baby brother! I'll find a way back to you, I promise!" She watched as he continued to call for her as the portal swallowed him up. First his chest, then his face, and then slowly up his arms. Schala was seized by a sudden thought. She bit her mother's hand. 

Queen Zeal screamed and let go. Schala raced forward, diving for her brother's hand...and missing it as the portal dragged him in, closing without a trace. "JANUS!!o" she cried again, sobbing. He was gone. 

. 

_That was the end of the Magical Kingdom of Zeal. Lavos emerged and sent lasers through the floating continent, sending it crashing into the sea below. The Ocean Palace was smashed beneath the weight of so much rock. The eternal blizzard on Terra Continent was ended and the Earthbound, combined with the few surviving Enlightened, formed a new world. Though it was thought that no one survived, it was rumored, however, that not everyone was killed in the Ocean Palace disaster. The rumors said that Princess Schala and Queen Zeal lived. Though whether it was fact or fantasy....that has yet to be seen. _


	7. A New Beginning, Part 1

**The Story Of Magus Chapter Six**

**A New Beginning Part 1**

****By ZealPropht 

There were lights. Bright, blinding lights, and a sound. Rushing wind. A feeling of both coldness and warmth and a sense of being weightless. There was no sense of direction. Was he moving forward or backward? Up or down or to the side? There was no way to know. Suddenly, a black portal opened in front of him, swallowing the lights in it's maw and spitting him out roughly on some hard surface, then disappearing without a trace. 

He lay panting on his back. That had been a terrible experience. Black portals, swirling lights...Where was he? Was he dead? But no, he still could breathe, could still feel his heart hammering in his chest. He opened his eyes and heaved a shrill scream. He was still surrounded by shadows. Black, twisted shadows, like in the portal. Hungry shadows that sought to steal his sanity. Shadows like Lavos, shadows like death. Lavos...A name! He clung to it, though it's very thought caused him pain. But why? 

_Brave the darkness, Janus...._

Janus? Another name. It sounded familiar. It was...him. He was Janus. 

Ghostly apparitions danced around him. They whispered taunts, they mocked him with sweet words of comfort. They caressed him with spectral wisps, churned and seethed like a sea of living night. He hastily closed his eyes. It was even darker beneath his eyelids. He reopened his eyes, a strangled, panicked sob rising in his throat. 

The shadows laughed in his head at him. _Janus, little Janus! Are we afraid, little Janus? No one to save you from us now, is there? You are alone, and we will watch you drown in us, Janus. We want you to be part of us, a servant of the shadows. Serve us, love us, and we will give you ultimate power...._

"Get a hold of yourself!," he murmured desperately, as he felt the power of the darkness around him begin to sap away his will. Like Lavos had tried to do...As he was STILL trying to do! 

_Nooooo! You will be ours! We will not let you go! We will wait for you, Prince of Zeal! You shall come to us on your knees. We are Lavos, and we will wait. You will be ours!_

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!," he shouted. There came the hideous shrieking sound as Lavos' spirit dissipated as smoke does on the wind. He remembered now! He was Janus, the youngest child of the royal family of Zeal Kingdom. And his mother had tried to use his sister, Schala, to power the Mammon Machine, causing a huge portal to open up and....He shuddered. No, he didn't want to think about that. It reminded him too much of Lavos. Instead he looked around, not that he could see much. It was almost pitch black, wherever he was, and it was cold. Not the bitter cold of the Terra Continent, but a damp type of chill that makes the bones ache and the body tremble yet sweat at the same time. 

Well, there was no help for it. He couldn't see to travel while it was so dark. He'd wait till light and then take a look around. But what if it never got light here, Janus asked himself with a start. What would he do then? The thought panicked him. He hated to think of spending the rest of his life in endless night. Or maybe he was blind? Thoughts like this terrified him, and though he tried to choke them back, he found himself curled up in a ball with tears trickling down his cheeks. 

"Schala, I'm so afraid!," he whispered to himself. "I know you told me to brave the darkness but I can't. Not alone! And Lavos wants my soul...What am I to do? Schala, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry..." His sobs gradually grew less intense and he began to feel drowsy. "I let you down Schala. I'm not brave. I need you. I don't know where I am, and I might never see you again. I'm so sorry...." Though it was cold, Janus' eyes grew heavy and before long he had cried himself to sleep. 

. 

_In Another Part of the World...._

The sorceress Flea raced through the halls of the spooky, gray-stone castle. The spirits and demented, zombie-like apparitions scattered as she sped past them. Finally having reached the main audience chamber, she kicked open the doors. 

"Ozzie? Ozzie! I need to talk to you!," Flea shouted. Her voice echoed eerily around the high, vaulted room. "It's important!" 

"What's wrong, baby? Did you break a nail again?," came a smooth, sarcastic voice. The torches went out briefly in the room as a blinding white silhouette took shape in front of her. As the torches re-lit, the white glow faded and there, hovering slightly above the ground, arms crossed over his chest, was Slash. He grinned, purplish-pink lips spreading apart and revealing white, surprisingly even teeth. "Hey, sweet thing. What's up?" 

Flea rolled her eyes and curled her lip in disgusted disdain. "You're so sick, Slash!" 

The blue-skinned swordsman shrugged. "I'm not the one who thinks I'm of the opposite gender." 

Flea glowered and flipped her braid over her shoulder. "Don't talk down to me Slash. I could kick your sorry butt in a heartbeat." She held up a hand to stop Slash's protestations. "Yeah, whatever, Slash. I'm here to see Ozzie, not waste my breath on you." As she said this, the man, or rather, Mystic, himself, showed up. 

Ozzie, leader of the Mystics, was a fat green imp who was about four feet tall with expensive silken robes on his expansive frame. Because he was so short, Ozzie levitated off the ground to make up for it. He was a ridiculous sight but no one dared to cross him, for though he was privately considered a wimp, everyone knew that he had a nasty temper. Such was the case as he appeared in the room. 

"All right, Flea! What is SO important that you had to come in here, screaming like a siren, with that annoying voice of yours?" He placed his stubby hands on his sides, since his arms were too short to reach his hips. Both Flea and Slash bowed respectfully. 

"Oh, great Ozzie. I have some strange and rather disturbing news," Flea said, after her superior waved for her to rise. She took some small pleasure in seeing that Slash hadn't been bid to do the same, and as such, he had to stand doubled over in his bow. She sent a smirk in his direction before continuing. "A little after midnight I felt a tremendous power surge. I mean BIG! I've never felt such raw power in my life! And it was coming from the direction of Truce Canyon, too. I'm sure those humans are up to something." 

Ozzie rubbed his chin in thought. "The king of Guardia is an old fool. Everyone knows that his son does the real ruling of the kingdom. Why would the humans be stirring up trouble?" 

Slash, greatly daring, took the opportunity to interject into the conversation. "We all know that the humans fear our power. They would rather see us dead then living in their precious kingdom." He risked a glance at his leader, ignoring Flea who glared daggers at him. "I say you let me go down their with a patrol and kick some flabby human butt." 

"That is very true, Slash." Ozzie paced a bit, one hand behind his back, the other still rubbing his chin. "But I don't want start any trouble before the time is right." Though not noted to be incredibly quick witted, the Mystic leader wasn't stupid. It was very true what the swordsman had said. For many, many years, long before Ozzie had been even born, humans and Mystics had held a grudging respect for each other, living side by side, but not interacting if they could help it. Humans were magicless while the Mystics controlled the power of the arcane, effectively segregating the two races from each other. 

Now, however, the occupants of Guardia Kingdom were starting to form dark opinions of the Mystics, despising their use of magic, their freakish appearances, and most of all, their growing ambitions. Many of the younger Mystics began to believe it was time for their race to take the power from the weak humans and transfer it to themselves. It was the Mystics who should rule the land, they believed, not the spineless wimps like old King Guardia and his snot-faced son. 

Slash and Flea, though as different a two sides of a coin, were agreed on that point adamantly. They had even started a resistance force to train as warriors and magicians to help in battle, if that's what it came down to. They believed that an armed force would undoubtedly scare the old king right off the throne and whip the humans into line. And while Ozzie didn't like the idea of war with the humans, he had to applaud his bumbling captains for their efforts. 

"I don't know, Ozzie. I think Slash is right, for once," the sorceress replied, leaning one elbow on Slash who was still bowing. The swordsman ground his teeth as the weight made his back begin to cramp. He swore silently and reminded himself for the hundredth time that week to teach Flea who her betters were. "I mean, if the humans are plotting something, then we should check it out. Maybe not attack them, because that's just dumb, but at least do some scouting." 

Ozzie nodded at that. "Yes, Flea, that seems to be a reasonable plan. I approve of it. Very well, you may do your scouting," he said. Flea ground her elbow into Slash's back, just out of spite, and flashed him a smug grin. Ozzie decided to pop her bubble, just because he liked to keep the captains on edge. "I also want Slash to accompany you, my dear." 

"WHAT?!," she cried in shock. Slash stood up so fast that he threw her off balance and the Mystic went sprawling on her back. The swordsman drew his sword, from which he was named, and sliced at the air. 

"Thank you, great Ozzie! I won't let you down." He prodded the stunned Flea with the toe of his boot. "And I'll keep this fashion freak in line." He laughed at Flea's outraged expression and twirled in the air, vanishing to his room to prepare for the journey. 

"Hey! Wait for me!," Flea snapped, a wind howling around her and raising her cloak like wings. In a second she two had disappeared. Ozzie stood there a moment longer, thinking. Though he hadn't said it, he too had felt the power surge that Flea had spoken of. The leader of the Mystics had the feeling that something or someone very beneficial to his plans was about to come his way. 

. 

Janus groggily rolled over on the hard ground he was laying on. Wet grass brushed his hand, tickling him. Irritably he rubbed the itch and squinted, trying to block the light from...Light?! The prince sat up so fast that his head spun dizzily. He waited for it to stop before attempting to open his eyes. After a moment, his head cleared and he took the first look at the world around him. 

He was sitting on a damp patch of grass and dirt in the middle of trees. HUGE trees. Trees bigger then some of the buildings in the Magic Kingdom. And there were bushes and flowers so dense that it seemed impossible to get through them. What had Gaspar called places like these? Jungles, he thought. Was this a jungle? And if so, where was he? 

There was no snow, so he wasn't on Terra Continent, and it definitely wasn't cold enough to be there anyway. No place on Zeal had trees of this size been seen, so he obviously wasn't there. No continent floated in the sky. Obviously, Zeal Kingdom was either long gone or yet to be. Gaspar had said that these...jungles had been around a long time ago. Was he in the past? 

"I hope not," Janus said out loud. "I would hate to run into any sort of big toothy creatures like I saw in those cave pictures. That wouldn't be good at all." He stood up and brushed in vain at the grass stains and mud that marred his attire and clotted in his hair. "I probably look like a royal mess, as Belthazar would say," he murmured a bit forlornly. He felt a lump forming in his throat as he remembered the faces of those he had privately cared about but never admitted. Schala's face rose to the surface above all others. Poor Schala must be so worried, he thought. She probably thinks I'm gone for good. 

Janus lifted his chin bravely. Well, he wouldn't be able to get anything done if he started to cry like some silly little kid. If he ever wanted to see Schala again, he had to pull himself together and face the facts. He was lost in a strange world, so the first thing he needed to do was find civilization, if there was any, and ask some questions. Taking a deep breath, he set one foot in front of the other and began to follow what appeared to be some sort of path. 

As he walked, the boy began to notice the sounds of birds. He'd never actually seen live birds outside of cages before. At first he marveled at them but after a while decided that they didn't look too friendly. He followed a ledge and came across a rope bridge. He tested it gingerly, looking at the drop below. It was very sturdy and so he crossed as quick as he could. As he did, Janus noticed some treasure chests lying around. He considered opening them, but decided against it. After all, he had been brought up properly, and it would never do to snoop into someone else's stuff. 

The path curved slightly and became rather steep as it went down. Walking carefully, he made it down to more level ground where he caught sight of two green little kids about his size playing with a ball. They looked nothing like he had ever seen in his life. Besides being green, they had big eyes and wore overalls and had very sharp little teeth. Janus was certain that he didn't want to mess with them at all, so he decided to try and sneak past them. 

As he did, however, one of the green kids kicked the ball and it hit him smack in the stomach, knocking him over. The prince landed on his back with a thud. For a moment, he couldn't breath. The ball was surprisingly heavy. To his amazement and sudden fear, the ball popped open two huge eyes and ears and bounced up and down on him waving a little flower. He gave a shout and the ball hopped off him and rolled back over to the green kids. 

"Hey, sorry about that. You okay? I didn't mean ta hit ya. Here, lemme help ya up," the green kid said. His buddy went after the ball and stopped it with his foot while the first one helped Janus up. "Why are you wearing a disguise up here? You don't need one around us." 

"Huh?," Janus asked before he could stop himself. The green kid narrowed his eyes suspiciously but the second one called to him. 

"Ah, don't be so nosy! If he wants to wear a disguise let him. Probably is heading for a party or something," the second one said, standing on the ball and walking on it, making it spin. To Janus, he said, "Don't mind him. He's just a snoop, that's all." 

The first one patted Janus on the back in a friendly manner. "Yeah, sorry pal. I'll let ya keep your secrets. But be careful if you're going into town, okay? If ya let your disguise slip just once, they'll string you up from the nearest tree. And not even Ozzie can save you if THAT happens." 

The prince was now extremely confused. Ozzie? Disguise? Green kids and animals for playing kickball? This new world was very strange indeed. He wondered, not without some dread, if all the people of this place were like these weird little kids. He mumbled a "thanks" and continued down the path. It wasn't long before he found his way down the mountain. As he walked, a thick mist began to rise up around him, as if the world itself was trying to hide from his view. It choked out the sun, and made the land seem dark and dreary, mysterious yet oppressive. It was like some weight had been settled, never to be lifted again. In the distance, the hazy outline of buildings could be seen. Perhaps it was a town. 

Janus rushed forward, heedless of what dangers may have been in store. All he knew was that here was civilization. Here he may find a way to get home. It only took his a few minutes to reach the village. It seemed that no one was about, but in this type of weather, who would be? Since it was bad manners to simply walk into a house and ask questions, he looked for some public place where he could perhaps make some inquiries. A sign hung above one of the buildings. It read Ye Olde Truce Inn. Inside, there appeared to be quite a bit of ruckus. Laughter and the clank of mugs wafted out to him in little intervals, as if something was going on in-between to quiet them down. Gathering his courage, Janus pushed open the door. 

As he entered, he noticed that several people turned to him with dark glances to each other. Only one man, a dusty traveler in patched and stained leather, ignored him and took a long swig from his mug. Gradually, the people returned to looking at the man instead of Janus, though they did seem to keep a watchful eye on him. 

"So what happened next, Toma?," asked a lovely young barmaid, tossing her blond curls over her shoulder and leaning eagerly towards the man, allowing him a look down her blouse. He smiled appreciatively and chucked her chin gently. 

"So there I was," he continued dramatically to the crowd, though his eyes were on the barmaid. "I had fifty Mystics bearing down on me. I knew my time had come. All I had to defend myself with was a bottle of soda pop and my trusty cat-claws. It looked pretty hopeless." He took another drink from his mug. He set it on the counter and the barmaid filled it up from a jug marked "Cider". 

"What did you do then, Toma?," asked an old man from a corner. The adventurer winked shrewdly and held a finger to the side of his nose. Everyone grinned in anticipation. The old man laughed. "I know that look! It was something devious wasn't it?" 

"You bet your bottom coin it was!," Toma smirked. "I knew it was either them or me. So I did the only thing I could think of." 

"What?," everyone, except Janus of course, asked in unison. Toma raised his mug to the assembled people in a mock salute. They held their breaths, waiting. 

"I took out the soda and offered to pass out drinks on me!," he laughed. Everyone busted up, even though the joke was lost on Janus. He simply rolled his eyes. What did he expect from peasants? 

The old man who had spoken earlier wiped his eyes and held out his hand to Toma. "What a tale! Brings back memories of my youth." Toma shook his hand gratefully and leaned closer. 

"If you think THAT was good, just wait till I tell you what the Mystics and I talked about while we drank!" Toma pulled up a chair and as everyone went back to doing other things, he launched into a long and rather bawdy story that made the old man's eyes twinkle and Janus and the barmaid blush. But as his flaming face burned hot with embarrassment, his mind was working. 

Janus could see that Toma was obviously well traveled and well versed in the lay of the land. Maybe he was the one who might be able to answer some of his questions. The prince waited patiently until Toma wrapped up his story with a toast to the old man's health and moved back to the bar. He then approached the man. 

Toma glanced at him briefly as he climbed onto the stool next to him. The adventurer whistled. "Dang, kid! It isn't every day you see hair that color. It I didn't know better, I'd say you were a Mystic." He finished off his cider and motioned for another to be brought. The bartender slid one down to him and Toma flipped him a coin. "That mop must be a damned pain in the ass. I know I wouldn't want to have it." 

Janus touched his matted hair and glowered. "How dare you tell me that!," he flared, the royal arrogance coming into play. "I like my hair, thank you very much! Where I come from, blue hair is a mark of distinction, unlike your common peasant brown which shows lack of breeding. I happen to be royalty!" Toma looked at him blankly and rolled his eyes. 

"O-kay! That's a first!" 

"But it's TRUE!," Janus wailed. Several people turned around, snickered at him, and turned away. Lowering his voice, he repeated, "It's true!" 

Toma laughed long and loud. "Come off it, son! There has never been a blue-haired child in the royal family. Ever! And besides, none of the royal family has even half of your snobbishness." Taking a deep drink, he sighed happily. "Not even the Chancellor, and he's got a twelve-foot pole up his...well, never mind." 

Janus was silent as he absorbed this news. No blue-haired royalty? If it was highly uncommon for blue hair to be seen, then the world must be populated by...Earthbound or their descendants! That was probably why the Magical Kingdom didn't float in the sky. But if so, what became of it? 

After a while, he said, "Mister, uh, Toma, sir? Have you ever heard of a place called Zeal Kingdom?" 

Toma frowned and his mustache bristled. "Come to think of it, yes. A long time ago, there was a magical kingdom that floated above the clouds. But some disaster made it crash into the sea. Because of that, new continents were formed down below. Why do you ask? Hey! Son, are you all right? Bartender, pass me another mug of cider for the boy!" 

Janus had gone deathly pale. Zeal Kingdom, destroyed, long ago....Long ago...Schala was gone. His world was gone. If the Magical Kingdom was buried beneath the waves then he must have been right. The Earthbound did take over, which consequently meant that he was in....the future. 


	8. A New Beginning, Part 2

**The Story Of Magus Chapter Seven**

**A New Beginning Part 2**

By ZealPropht 

Flea trudged wearily up the steep slope of Truce Canyon, sweating and grumbling all the way, while Slash hovered casually beside her. She paused for a moment, leaning against the trunk of an old oak tree, resting her sore legs which ached from the climb. Slash rose above her and reclined on a sturdy branch. He chuckled at the tired magician. 

"You didn't have to walk you know. You could have used your magic," he grinned. Flea glared at him, since she hadn't recovered her breath enough yet to retort. "I mean, c'mon toots! Whatever made that energy surge last night couldn't possibly have gone far, and if it's dangerous, well....The sooner we dispatch it, the sooner we can go home and put our feet up." 

"Exactly the reason that I wish to conserve my strength, Slash. But I'm sure your pea-brain wouldn't have figured that out," Flea commented sarcastically. "You'd probably run up to whatever it was and try and stick your sword in it before even bothering to examine or question it." Slash laughed in good-natured contempt and made a bored gesture. 

"It beats all that mumbo-jumbo and finger wiggling you call magic!," he chuckled, waggling his own fingers in demonstration. He patted his Slasher sword on the hilt, stroking it lovingly as one does a favorite pet. "Give me a good old-fashioned fight any day. I'll leave those coin tricks and disappearing acts up to the likes of you." Moving with a grace and agility that seemed out of place in the odd swordsman, he hopped down from the branch. His feet didn't touch the ground and he continued to hover. Flea watched him with a lazy disdain. 

"So speaks one of little intellect or understanding. You are so _dense_, Slash! I'm beginning to think your head is made of wood or something." 

Slash shrugged. "Whatever you say, babe. I'm not arguing with you." Turning on the air, since he couldn't very well turn on his heel, he started floating back up the path. 

Flea looked at him in shock. Hurriedly she caught up with him. "You're not arguing with me?" 

"No." 

"Well, why not?!" Stopping dead in her tracks, the magician crossed her arms in irritation. How dare Slash disrupt their routine! They ALWAYS argued! It wasn't fair for him to start agreeing with her now. "It's because you know I'm right, isn't it? Ha! It's about time you realized that!" 

But Slash shook his head. "No, it's just that I realize that you are SO stupid and SO far off the mark that I decided it isn't worth my time or effort to correct you. After all," he grinned devilishly, "some animals can't be trained." He laughed at Flea who's face was so red from furry that she looked positively beet-like. "Anyway, stop lagging behind. I don't want to spend any more time around here then we have to." 

"What's the matter? Scared a human's gonna jump out and grab ya?" Flea leapt at him, breaking his levitation and knocking him into the dust. Calmly, the swordsman tripped her from his position on the ground. Flea landed with a thud next to him. 

"No, I'm not scared. You should know that nothing short of Ozzie in his underwear could scare me." Slash got up and dusted himself off, offering a hand down to the other Mystic. "I just want to get on with this investigation. I'm hot and I'm getting hungry and I just want to get back." 

The two kept struggling up the mountain, Flea complaining about how she was missing her beauty nap and that now she needed a bath because she had twigs in her braid and what all else. Slash kept quiet most of the time because when the magician was on a roll, nothing, except maybe an ambush, could have shut her up. 

They eventually came across the two green imps kicking the roly back and forth. When they saw Flea and Slash, they shrieked and tried to escape into the bushes. Flea yawned a waved a hand at them. Immediately, the two imps were frozen in place. The roly, not being very bright to begin with, huddled where they had left it, too scared to move an inch. Slash walked up to the first imp and drew his sword. 

"Tell us all you know about that mysterious power that happened last night or I'll slice your greasy little ears off and make you eat them!," he threatened, poking the imp with the blade. The imp wailed. 

"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't live around here! I'm his cousin, Harval, visiting from the Denadoro Mountains area. I stop by every day to play roly-ball with him, but I never heard anything about a mysterious power before," the imp whimpered pathetically. Slash grunted and walked over to the second imp who screamed and tried futilely to run away, though he was rooted to the spot. 

The swordsman gave a few experimental swings over the second imps head before letting the heavy blade rest on it's shoulder. "So your cousin Harval comes to visit you, eh?" 

"Uh, yes, s-sir. I l-like to play kick the roly-ball with him," the second imp murmured weakly. Slash rubbed his chin, a vain attempt to look subtle. Flea would have laughed if she thought she could get away with it. 

"And you live in this area, correct?," Slash continued. The imp could barely nod his head but he managed to do so...slightly. "Did you feel any type of strange, magical outflow last night, around oh, close to midnight? Or a little after?" 

The imp thought for a second. "Yes, sir. I did." 

"Very good! Now, you're going to tell us everything you know about that energy or else I'll get Flea here to turn you into the little roach you are and I'll step on you. Is that clear?" Slash let the sword blade nick the imp's shoulder. 

"Okay!," he yelped. "I don't know what caused it or where it came from. But I know that this morning, a human kid came down from the top of the canyon. He was really weird! Funny clothes, blue hair...A real odd ball, that one!" He saw the swordsman's face darken and he gulped loudly. 

Flea frowned and spoke up, clearing her throat. "Are you certain it was a human? Not just a Mystic in disguise? It sounds awfully suspicious. Are you positive you didn't make a mistake, because if you did and are leading us on....!" 

"No sir, er, ma'am," the first imp, Harval, called out. The two generals turned to look back at him. "At first, we thought the kid might be an imp, going to a party or something, and that he was probably wearing a disguise. I told my cousin there, after the kid left, that I thought it was strange that he didn't talk about who he was or what he was doing...Us imps generally aren't like that with each other." 

Flea waved a hand and the spell was lifted. Harval and his cousin raced off into the bushes, closely followed by the roly. Slash rounded on Flea. "What did you do that for? I could have gotten more information out of them!" 

The magician sneered. "Your brain is as thick as your rear-end, Slash! There was no more information to be had. They obviously knew nothing more of use." Slash cursed under his breath and sheathed his sword, slamming it into the metal casing viscously. 

"But you still didn't have to go and ruin my fun! I collect imps! They're part of my...trophy display." 

Flea regarded him with disgust. "Oh, I did NOT want to hear that! You just HAD to go there didn't you? Who wants to collect imps?! Give me human heads any day over stupid little imps like those." Shaking her head, Flea looked around for a moment. "At any rate, we need to give this information to Ozzie. The humans are definitely plotting something up here." 

Slash nodded. "Yes, but Ozzie won't act unless we have proof of our claims. No Flea. Our word won't cover it.," he said when she was about to protest. "We need evidence, we need facts, we need-" 

"The kid!" 

Slash blinked. "Excuse me?" 

"The kid! The one who came down from the top of the canyon this morning! If we could capture him, he might be able to tell us about that power." Flea rubbed her hands together gleefully. "All we need to do is find him." Shading her eyes, she looked at the sky where the sun appeared to be a hazy yellow blur through the clouds. "As you said earlier, he couldn't have gone far." 

Her companion whistled and made a "T" with his hands. "Whoa, hold it! Time out here! I never said I was going to go tromping about through human infested towns looking for some kid with big powers. That's like...suicide!" 

The magician clucked her tongue at Slash reprovingly. "For shame, Slash! A big tough guy like you scared by widdle itty-bittsy humans? Oh, what ever shall we do with you?" Laughing, Flea swirled her cape around her. All the trappings and glitter that marked her as a magic-user vanished. She now wore a plain brown dress, unadorned and simple. Her face had changed as well. From haughty Mystic beauty to looking like a common peasant, a smattering of freckles erased all traces of her former self. Looking at Slash expectantly, he crossed his arms over his chest. 

"No way! Uh, uh! I'm not going into a human village and that is final!" 

. 

"Okay, son, drink this and you'll feel better," Toma said to Janus as he handed him a mug of warm spiced cider. Janus held it in his hands absently and stared off into space. The adventurer shook his head, the mane of unkempt brown hair swishing over his shoulders. Toma twisted his mustache between his thumb and index finger as he took the opportunity to study the boy. 

The kid was certainly different from anyone he'd seen, except maybe the Mystics, but he didn't have their flair for the dramatics. Instead, he seemed lost and out of place amongst the other occupants of the Inn. His clothes were fine yet outdated it seemed, and that hair.....Sheesh! Toma cleared his throat and took a drink from his mug. He wanted some answers from this strange kid. 

"So, son, what are you-", he began but Janus cut him off. 

"Don't ever call me 'son' again," the prince hissed quietly. "I have no family." The last was said so softly that Toma wondered if he'd even heard it in the first place. Though his face was impassive, Toma felt a welling of pity in his heart. Obviously this boy had been through something traumatic. 

"Sorry," the man replied gruffly. "I don't know your name." 

"You may call me your-" Janus stopped as he realized he had been about to say, "Your Highness". What good would titles do him now? Toma had laughed at him once before over that score and the former prince refused to be insulted once more. Instead, Janus took a deep breath and replied, "You may call me Janus." 

"Janus, huh? That's an unusual name," Toma commented casually. Then, seeing the boy's face darken, he hastily amended, "But I like it just the same. It suits you well." At that, the boy's brow furrowed even more. Obviously this kid was quick to anger so it would be best to walk carefully on this dangerous ground. Hastily, he changed the subject. "So, Janus, where are you from?" 

"Uh..." The boy thought quickly. He couldn't very well explain that he was from the past. People would definitely lock him away, thinking he was insane or something. Finally, for lack of a better response, he replied, "I...don't really know...where I'm from." 

Toma raised an eyebrow. "You don't know where you're from?" 

Janus flared. "That's what I just said, didn't I?!" 

Toma held up his hands. "Okay, okay, sorry! I just wanted to make sure I'd heard you correctly. Mind if I ask why you don't know?" The boy's face fell again. Toma waited patiently to hear the kid's response. 

"I can't really seem to, uh, remember." 

"You can't remember?" 

"Do you have a hearing problem or was your mother a parrot?," Janus asked in disgust. The man's face flushed angrily. The little brat! But even as he thought this, the anger died. The boy was scared, that much was obvious. Oh, he might try to hide behind all that bluster and show of temper, but under the surface, he was a frightened child. 

Toma tried again. "Okay, where did you come from this morning?" 

Janus seemed to relax, as if back on known territory. "From that mountain behind the town." 

"I see. How about you tell me all that you remember about who you are and what you know and we'll see what we can piece together." 

Janus struggled with that. He didn't really want to tell Toma anything at all, but it would look suspicious if he didn't. And besides that, he would need a place to stay, at least until he was able to find a way to get back to his own time, if that was possible. "Well, let me see here," he stalled, thinking up a plausible story. "Well, I woke up on the mountain-" 

"Truce Canyon," Toma interrupted. 

"Right. I woke up in Truce Canyon and I had no idea how I'd gotten there. So I was walking down, trying to find a town when I came acrossed....Um, anyway, I came to the town and-" 

"Whoa, slow down there. What were you about to say? What did you come by?" 

Janus shifted uncomfortably. "It's dumb, let's just skip it. I was probably mistaken anyway, delirious or something." 

"No, what was it, Janus?," Toma demanded sternly. The boy sighed and mumbled something. "Huh? Speak up. I can't understand a word of what you're saying." 

"I said, 'I found some green children' okay?", the boy snapped, embarrassed. "I know it sounds weird but -" 

"No, not weird at all. Those weren't green kids, they were imps." 

Janus frowned. Obviously this man had never been taught to let a person finish his sentence. Honestly, Janus thought, I've never been interrupted so much in my entire life! "Imps?," he repeated. Oh, great! Now he was doing the word repeating too! Toma was not a very good influence. 

"Yes, imps. Slimy, bootlicking lackeys for the Mystics. They pop up almost everywhere around here. They are such a damned nuisance, but unfortunately, there's not much we can do about them. Go on with your story." 

"Well, anyway, I came by those...imps, and they scared me half to death. They said they wanted whatever money I had and when I told them I had none, they...kicked a ball at me. It hit me and I went tumbling down the mountain. I think I knew where I came from this morning, but since I fell down from Truce Canyon, I'm an empty book." Janus finished with a wave of his arms as if demonstrating his words with actions. He was quite pleased with the tale. It was part truth, part fiction but he hoped Toma would buy it. 

Toma scratched his chin thoughtfully. The story he'd been told seemed credible, for imps were know to be that way to strangers traveling alone. But, on the other hand, what business had a kid up in Truce Canyon? Something didn't add up but he couldn't put his finger on it. Oh well, he thought, it's probably none of my business. 

"So, where are you staying, boy? You can't plan to just wander around until your memory returns," the adventurer stated bluntly. Janus shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the idea of accepting charity if Toma did ask for him to stay with him for the time being. Angrily, the boy pushed the thought from his head. Fool!, he thought, this is a matter of survival! 

Raising his head, he met Toma's gaze squarely, proudly. "I have no place to stay." Toma snorted. 

"Figures. Oh, well. It can't be helped. I'll tell you what, kid. I know this family who has a son about your age. They owe me a couple favors. If I ask them, I'm sure they'll give you a place to stay for a while." 

Janus nodded absently and took a long drink of the tangy cider. He would have preferred to stay with Toma, but that was only because the uncouth human was the only person he actually was aquatinted with. But seeing no other alternative, Janus grudgingly was forced to accept his fate. 

. 

Toma led Janus to a small house near a small forest that grew outside a huge stone castle. Janus wrinkled his nose in sardonic humor. Well, it wasn't a surprise to see that the Earthbound descendants weren't as advanced as the Enlightened had been. Their dwellings, though a good deal better then the caves they'd inhabited on Terra Continent, were still fairly primitive in comparison to Zealian architecture. Though every now and again, when the smoky sunlight filtered through the clouds and mist, Janus would wince as he saw shadows of arches and outlines of towers that were achingly familiar. 

"C'mon, kid, don't lag behind. You'd think you'd never seen Guardia Castle before," Toma chuckled. Then, realizing that perhaps his companion might not remember seeing it, he stopped laughing and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Um, ahem! Anyway, this family I'm taking you to live with is really nice. You'll like them, I'm sure, especially their son. He's a bright young thing. He'll be quick with a sword, that's for sure." Toma grinned rather proudly at that in such a peculiar way that Janus was forced to wonder if Toma was keeping something a secret. 

As the approached the house, the door was flung open wide and a boy with sandy blond hair that flew wildly about his face came running out. "Uncle Toma! Uncle Toma!," he cried gleefully, throwing his arms around the adventurer. Toma returned the hug just as warmly. 

"Hey, squirt! How ya doing?," he asked, ruffling the boy's hair. Janus watched all this with a bored expression. Family scenes always seemed to make him nauseous. Toma was oblivious to all, even the former prince, and hefted the boy up on his shoulders. "So, been practicing with that sword I made you?" 

"Yes, sir! I betcha momma can't wait to see you Uncle Toma. She's up at the castle with papa," the boy informed them. Toma groaned and set the boy down. 

Shading his eyes, Toma looked at the hazy sky. "I guess there's no help for it." To Janus, he said, "You stay here and get aquatinted with each other. I'll be back in a little while. Don't get into mischief, understand?" 

"We promise, Uncle Toma," the boy said solemnly, putting a friendly arm around Janus' shoulders. The former prince found this familiarity to be extremely irritating but he ground his teeth and reigned in his temper. Hitting the other boy would solve nothing and only accomplish his losing the first chance for shelter and food...and a possible friend. Having been separated from most children because of his position, and though he'd never admit it, his temperament, Janus found the idea of a companion his own age to be most appealing. 

The boys waved farewell to the adventurer as he headed into the spooky looking forest that surrounded Guardia Castle. He was soon lost from sight in the dense ground mist that continually swirled in the still air. Janus lowered his arm and looked expectantly at the other boy who grinned at him. The former prince raised an eyebrow slightly. 

"So", he said, "what are we going to do now?" The blond boy shrugged. 

"Dunno. What do you want to do?" 

Janus checked a sigh of exasperation and rolled his eyes. Peasants! "Why don't we start by telling each other our names?" 

The blond boy smacked his forehead and laughed. It was infectious. Janus started to chuckle hesitantly as if unsure what he was laughing at. But in a second or two, he was laughing right along with the other boy. It felt good to laugh. It seemed as if it had been ages since he'd felt so alive. The laughing chased away the darkness that remained in his soul from the events he'd so recently faced. 

"I'm sorry! I was so rude! I should have introduced myself right away," the boy gasped, taking a deep breath to help calm himself. Janus waved a hand, dismissing the statement as he wiped tears from his eyes. 

"It's quite all right." Holding out his small hand in a gesture of friendship, the former prince of Zeal said, "My name is Janus." His companion placed his grubby, play-worn hand in his and shook it firmly. 

"Pleased to meet ya, Janus," he replied. With a huge smile, he announced, "My name is Cyrus. I hope we get to be good friends!" 

. 

_If Toma had known when he'd introduced these two pawns of fate the courses their lives would take, he would have gladly admitted that it would be one adventure he would want to miss. But he didn't know, for he was doing only what he felt was best for Janus. And so, the true tests for the former prince of Zeal were about to begin._


	9. Capture! Ozzie and the Mystics

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 8**

**Capture! Ozzie And The Mystics**

By ZealPropht 

"So, wanna see my fortress?" 

"Your what?," Janus asked with a puzzled frown. He looked at the two story house that stood not too far away and then back to Cyrus. 

"My fortress. Well, actually it's a tree house but I call it a fortress. Wanna go see it? It's really nifty. Uncle Toma built it for me as a birthday present the year before last." 

"You have a tree house?," Janus repeated vaguely. "My, how odd." He gestured at the house. "I thought you lived here. I might say it seems that you people have some strange ideas of housing around here." 

Cyrus laughed. "That's really hilarious, Janus!" 

"What is?," the prince asked perturbed. He disliked being laughed at, especially by inferiors. "I'm serious. The roof would leak and the wind might blow your house over and then where would you be? Honestly, some people never plan ahead!" Cyrus put his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. 

"Oh, stop! I can't breathe!," he gasped. "Imagine, living in a tree house!" He laughed again. "No, dummy! I don't _live_ in my tree house." He paused. "Though I have to admit, that was a good one!," the boy chuckled." 

Janus ground his teeth together. "A good one, what?" But Cyrus ignored him and took a hold of his arm and began to pull him towards the back of the house. 

"C'mon! I'll show you what it's like. It's really big. I like to go there and fight off the Mystics." He grinned. "By the way, love the hair." He reached out to touch it to see if it was real. 

Janus pulled his arm out of the other boy's grasp and brushed off his sleeve in annoyance. "Don't drag me along like some animal on a leash. I can walk perfectly fine by myself, you know. And leave my hair alone!," he snapped. Cyrus shrugged, lowering his hand, and continued walking. Janus followed, though he wasn't very enthusiastic. "Anyway, that's like, the second or third time I've heard that name brought up. Who are these Mystics?" 

Cyrus glanced over his shoulder at his companion to see if he was fooling him. "You mean you don't know?" Where had this kid been?! When Janus shook his head silently, he whistled. "Well, there's Ozzie, the leader of the Mystics. He's supposed to be really mean. Then there's his captains, Slash and Flea. They're the ones who do all his dirty work, or so Uncle Toma tells us." 

"What about magic?," Janus questioned. "Do the, um, do the Mystics have...magic?" 

"Oh, yeah! I forgot about that. Yes, they do have magical powers. Sheesh! How could I forget? Everyone says that the Mystics sacrifice the humans they capture to call up demons." Cyrus shivered. "No one likes magic here very much, it's just way to...strange! Of course, some of the knights are trained to know some of the magic that the Mystics use, or at least, that's what father says. He says it has to do with fighting fire with fire. If you want to know more, talk to Uncle Toma. He's a famous adventurer you know, he's been everywhere. He's the one who really knows about the Mystics." 

They rounded the corner of the house and Toma stopped so suddenly that Janus walked into him. "Sorry," he mumbled, stepping back. Then he drew in his breath in awe. In the distance, on a hill, a huge building could be seen. It's walls were white with gold and rose-quartz that shimmered in the mist like a magical jewel. It's entire shape hinted so much at Zealian architecture that he was almost certain it was part of an original building that had been refurbished for this age. A forest surrounded it and the foremost of the trees held a large structure upon it that spread through it's thick branches and even on the ground around it. 

"Neat, isn't it? That's the Cathedral in the distance. It's where the royal family goes to meditate and pray. The nobility goes there as well, and sometimes, if we're lucky, the knights can go there as well," Cyrus stated, a hint of sadness in his voice. 

"What's a, uh...a knight?," Janus asked, stumbling over the word. He hated being so ignorant of this world into which he'd been thrust. He waited grimly for Cyrus to laugh at him again. But this time, the boy didn't. Instead, he got a far away look with a small, dreamy smile upon his face. 

"A knight is a guardian, a protector of the kingdom. He submits himself to the will of the king and pledges himself body and soul to defending the royal family. A knight is the very heart of courage and honor. It's the code a warrior lives by. Without these, a knight is disgraced. And to be a disgraced knight...well, that's to be nothing at all. You become less then a man." 

Janus yawned at this speech. "Sounds like a strict type of job," he commented dryly. Then added, "For a servant." But Cyrus took no notice of his sarcasm. He simply nodded his head. 

"It is strict, but to serve king and country and die gloriously in battle, it's a small price to pay." They stood silent for a moment or two before Cyrus shook himself and grinned. "Anyway, enough talk. I'll race you to the tree house." He took off running, shouting behind him, "Last one there is a wet dog!" 

Janus watched him go with a slight curling of his lip. He was not about to run after his companion, even at the risk of being a wet dog. Instead, he walked unhurriedly after, speculating on what Cyrus had said. So honor was the code of a knight, eh? It was obvious that Cyrus thought very highly of these people, these servants to the king. He was reminded of Captain Dalton back in Zeal and some of the palace guards. While they were recognized as being the "defenders" of the kingdom, it had been an empty title. Zeal hadn't been at war for several hundred years. Though they wore armor and swords, it was all ceremonial and they were praised not because of deeds they had done but by what their ancestors had done in the wars ages past. None the less, they were still servants, dolls made to be seen and shown off but not to be played with. But here, here they were glorified and respected as if the kingdom couldn't function without them. This was certainly a backwards place he had stumbled into. 

When arrived at the base of the tree-house, Cyrus couldn't be seen anywhere. Janus walked completely around the tree and the building that surrounded it and scanned the upper branches for signs of his blond haired companion. "Cyrus? Where are you?" He felt something drop onto his head with painful accuracy. "Ouch!," he exclaimed backing up and looking up into the branches above him. A rope ladder had been tossed down and Cyrus was standing at the top giving him a sheepish look. 

"Sorry. I thought you were on the other side. I didn't mean to drop the ladder on you. Are you all right?" 

Janus rubbed his scalp and winced as his fingers came back with a few tiny droplets of blood. "No, you imbecile! That stupid ladder cut me!," he shot back angrily. When he saw Cyrus flinch, he sighed. "I'll have a headache for a while but I'll be all right." He really wanted nothing more then to race up the ladder and throw the boy from the balcony but he decided against it. After all, he hadn't meant to hurt him...As Janus took hold of the swaying rope and wood that served as the way up to the second story, he smiled somewhat ruefully to himself. A day ago he wouldn't have hesitated to have given Cyrus a severe dressing down and probably have hit him in the process. But now...He'd actually forgiven Cyrus! Why? As he climbed up onto the wooden platform and Cyrus helped him stand up, he realized that despite his over familiar way of treating the former prince, Janus was genuinely starting to, if not actually like, then at least tolerate this strange boy. There was a sense of adventure about him that Janus never felt before, except maybe with Toma. He was wild and impetuous but warm and friendly. The former prince had never met anyone as sincerely open like this blond boy. 

"Here, have a seat. That was a nasty bonk on the head. Can I get you something for it? Maybe some ice?" 

Janus shook his head, groaned, and placed a hand to the aching lump. He sat down unsteadily on the offered chair. "No, I'm all right, really. I just got a little dizzy is all." He closed his eyes and concentrated on the hard lump of pain on the top of his head. It was sure to form a large goose-egg on his scalp that would be tender for the next week or so. Once again he wished he had the means to make Cyrus feel as lousy as he did right now. The sharp stinging gradually lessened and started to fade. Janus felt as if he might even be able to move his head again...barely. Though the pain refused to diminish itself completely, it did lessen sufficiently enough to ignore. 

"Janus?" 

He was startled by Cyrus's voice as it shocked him back into reality. "Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry. I was trying to make the pain go away. I think it worked." He watched Cyrus carefully to see what his reaction would be. Cyrus apparently didn't take his words seriously because he grinned and shrugged. 

"Whatever works, I say. If you're feeling better, wanna play something?," he asked. Janus was a little taken back. He hadn't had much experience with other kids his age so he found this changing from one topic to another to be very annoying. 

"And what, pray tell, do you propose we play exactly?," he asked. Cyrus laughed and slapped Janus on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. 

"I don't know. How about we pretend we're two princes defending our throne from hostile invaders? Or we could pretend we're pirates on the sea, raiding defenseless ships..." He went on and on with his ideas. Janus was swamped. Most of these games required quite a lot of physical exertion. Janus really didn't like to waste his energy in that fashion. He was saved from having to. Cyrus had just finished his long list of things they could do and was asking which one he preferred, when a woman's voice rang through the air. 

"Cyrus? Cyrus, my son, where are you?" 

Cyrus, his face alight with joy, turned away from Janus and scrambled down the rope ladder. "I'm out back by the tree-house," he called. As the former prince watched, a small woman looking from about thirty to thirty-five, came around the corner of the house, her arm hooking in the arm of a stern looking older man. Behind them followed Toma. Janus followed Cyrus down the ladder and together they went to greet the group of adults. 

Cyrus ran up to his mother who kissed the top of his head lovingly. She was petite, with hair the same color of her son's. Her face was radiant yet strangely sad around the green eyes that lingered affectionately every now and again on Toma who had come around the other side of her to stand beside Cyrus. Janus was startled to see the resemblance his companion bore to both Toma and his mother. In fact, the resemblance to Toma was actually uncanny. Cyrus looked nothing like the older man who stood beside his wife. Cyrus's father was tall with dark brown eyes that seemed to stare right through you and iron-shot hair and mustache. He wore silver armor and a purple cape, though both looked as though they had seen better days. Though his eyes seemed softer as they gazed on his son, they turned cold as he saw the hesitant looks that his wife and Toma flashed each other when they thought he wasn't looking. 

"Momma, this is my friend, Janus," Cyrus said, gesturing to the former prince. The woman turned her gaze to him. 

"My name is Llana, young sir. I'm glad to meet you," she said. Janus, remembering his manners, bowed to her with a courtly flourish. He wasn't a prince for nothing, after all. Llana laughed gaily. "My, my, Cyrus! Your friend is certainly a little gentleman isn't he?" 

"Madame, the pleasure is all mine," Janus stated, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly. He smiled his most winning smile at her. The woman blushed and place her hand over her heart. Solemnly, she returned his bow with a slight curtsy of her own. 

"You certainly are a charmer, aren't you kid?," Toma exclaimed, roaring with laughter. He grinned at Cyrus's father. "So what say you, Cedrick?" The older man looked Janus over appraisingly, noting the blue hair with a frown. 

"How old art thou, lad?," he asked abruptly in a deep voice. Janus was a bit taken back by his way of speech but he answered promptly. 

"I am ten years of age, sir," he replied. The knight grunted. He motioned for the boy to turn around so he could look him over some more. Though Janus resented such treatment, he did as he was bid. Cedrick sighed. 

"Yes, I suppose the lad is all right. Tis' not often I have seen one with such odd looks before. If my dear wife approves of him, he shall stay. I know Cyrus has taken a liking to him and it is beyond me to deny my...son...a companion." With that, Cedrick turned on his heel and left, walking stiffly away from them through the back door of the house. Llana followed him with her sad eyes and sighed. She turned to Janus with a smile though. 

"Well, mother, can Janus stay?," Cyrus asked pleadingly. Janus forced down a wave of rising tension in him. If he had done his work well, she would not, could not refuse him. After all, his tale was a sad one, to be sure, and no decent, big-hearted peasant woman could possibly turn him away, especially after the act he'd just pulled. 

"Yes, of course he may stay. It's what any good person would do for a boy in his condition." She put her other arm, the one that wasn't around Cyrus, over Janus' shoulders, drawing him close. "As of today, I have two sons," Llana laughed. Inwardly, Janus did the same, but for him, it was a laugh of triumph. 

. 

The triumph quickly faded over the course of the next couple of days as Janus realized that he simply wasn't cut out for the life of the middle class peasant. He found the daily chores tedious and repetitive. House cleaning was a pain for the dust irritated his nose which caused him to sneeze violently for several hours as he wiped down the furniture with a rag. Milking the scrawny brown cow that was living in the shed out back was just plain disgusting. Touching the warm udders gave a thrill of nausea to the boy who ducked out of it every chance he got. Washing dishes gave him chapped hands from the harsh lye soap that he was forced to use. It was the same with washing clothes. Day after day after day, Janus contemplated what life would be like elsewhere. Not that he was entirely unhappy living with Cyrus and his family. No, there were times when he actually liked this life. There was the time when Sir Cedrick let the boys ride on his war-horse, Windmane, and they'd visited the castle. Janus had found the huge building to be fascinating, with it's high towers that overlooked the kingdom for miles around. 

"What mountain is that over there?," Janus had asked hesitantly of Cyrus's father. The menacing man had turned to him with a glare but few things could truly daunt Janus and Cedrick wasn't one of them. The old knight and the boy had faced off for a full two minutes before the man replied, "That's Denadoro, home to the legendary Masamune." 

"Masamune?," Janus had repeated. Cedrick nodded. He explained that legends said that the Masamune was the most powerful sword known to man, and that the wielder held the power of the entire universe in his hands. It was rumored that the wielder of the sword could travel the world over and everywhere he went the course of history would be changed forever. 

Of course, Janus had scoffed at such a notion. "Man makes his own destiny, that's what I say. I certainly am following no such divine path." Indeed, his life seemed helter skelter to the ease he had grown accustomed to and taken advantage of in Zeal. He would have traded his soul some times during the chores he was forced to do for a moment of luxurious pampering. But none was to be had, of course. He had to earn his keep. And so, the former prince would often find himself entertaining thoughts of running away and starting his life new somewhere else...preferably amongst a noble's family, though as he looked know in his ragged finery with it's stains of mud and grass, he doubted he would have that opportunity. 

But as time wore one, the days turning into weeks, Janus began to realize that something was going terribly wrong with him. It was hard to put his finger on at first. It started off as a few broken glasses that shattered spontaneously in his hand. Then it led to other things, such as when the fire was low, a mere glance at it the wrong way would send flames leaping up the chimney, causing Llana to mutter some very unladylike remarks under her breath, fearing that the roof might catch fire. Janus soon came to terms that his magic power, which he had at first deemed nonexistent, had somehow miraculously appeared. In fact, it was rapidly becoming hard to control. In this world, his power seemed to be flourishing, but he knew, blessing his lucky stars that he had actually listened to Belthazar when he'd lectured on this, that eventually, without tutoring to help him control his magic, it would soon start fluctuating at will. Oh, he might be able to disguise it right now as clumsy accidents, but sooner or later the truth would come out. Already, Sir Cedrick was watching him with keen disapproval and gnawing suspicion, as if he wanted to tear open the boys head and see the secrets he concealed inside. For one of the few times in his life, Janus had absolutely no idea what to do. 

. 

Now, Janus wasn't the only one having any problems. Flea and Slash weren't to happy about their situation either. While the former prince griped and moaned about his new life, Slash was doing relatively the same thing. Flea had finally coaxed, prodded, and cajoled him into transforming his appearance into that of a human. He was not handsome, with his squinty little eyes and the unhealthy bluish tinge to his skin. Well, magic wasn't the answer to everything. No matter what they tried, his natural flesh tone was leaking through. It did help avoid attracting attention, however. One might think that a bluish-skinned man who was uncommonly ugly might draw more then a startled gasp from onlookers. But the fact was, that he was SO ugly and SO unusual that no one wanted to look more then once, later assuming that their mind must have been playing tricks on them. 

The disguises worked well. The duo of miscreants were able to wander around Guardia at will, posing as a young married couple, much to Flea's chagrin. "I don't see why we couldn't just be...you know! Pals or something. Why do we have to married?," she had whined. "I'm way to beautiful to be married to the likes of you!" 

"Not the way you look right now, sweet cakes!," Slash had laughed. "The way you look right now, you'd be lucky if a potato farmer looked at you twice!" This started a fist-fight which no one won. However, when they had picked themselves up off the ground, Flea managed to land a pretty good kick on Slash's rear end, leaving a dusty footprint on his trousers. 

When they were not arguing, they were searching for the mysterious boy who had come down from the mountain. But the more they searched and argued, the less they found, until they were ready to give up completely. It was then that Flea, with her highly trained magician's senses, started to detect the faintest taste of magic influxes. They were few at a time, but as the days passed, they were starting to grow more and more frequent. 

"Perhaps if we trace these...magic outbursts, we can find where our little blue-haired rabbit has made himself a nest," Slash suggested. 

"Agreed. Humans are so stupid! I mean, letting your powers go to waste like that. It's best if we destroy the boy soon. It's for his own good as well as ours. We can't let him grow up to become a threat to us. Besides, if he has as much magic as I think he has, he might very well blow half of Guardia up if his abilities go un-tempered." 

"Too, true." Slash patted Slasher on the hilt. "Besides, my sword could use a taste of human blood to slake it's thirst." 

"Not so fast, my bloodthirsty companion. I'd like to play with him a little first, see what type of magic this whelp possesses." Flea sighed. "I wonder if Ozzie has missed us yet." She had a sudden picture of Ozzie, lying on a divan, surrounded by sexy Naga-ettes dropping grapes into his wide, slobbery mouth which grinned with utter contentment. She shuddered and tried to clear the picture, but had trouble succeeding. He probably didn't even know they were gone. 

. 

Janus knelt on the floor with a bucket of water and a rag to clean up yet another mess his growing powers had made. Llana was beside him, carefully picking up bits of broken crockery amidst the spilled remains of a leftover pot roast. Sir Cedrick stood up from his chair with an angry thud as the wood grated against the polished floor. Janus flinched, more from the noise then from the accusing stare the old knight was giving his bowed back. Cyrus sat where he was at the table, his head bowed, scraping his plate with his fork. 

"Wife, I would speak with you privately," Cedrick grated, turning on his heel and stomping into the next room, his metal shod boots resounding on the floor with the sound of prison doors closing. Janus swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth and throat. Llana placed the broken crockery in the waste bucket and wiped her hand on her apron. 

Janus raised his head to the woman who gazed back at him. "I'm sorry about the roast, Mistress Llana," he whispered. She sighed and smoothed back his hair. Her touch caused a lump to rise in his throat, yet his eyes remained clear. 

"Don't worry, Janus, dear," she replied. "Cedrick is...excitable sometimes. He isn't angry, really. He's just like that sometimes. He's really very understanding..." 

"Wife!," came Cedrick's shout from the adjoining room. Without further words, Llana did as she was bid, moving in a rather undignified haste to comply. Janus waited for a moment. He could hear Llana's soft voice speaking, though the words were indistinguishable. The deep rumble of Cedrick's voice sounded like approaching thunder over the gentle sigh of Llana's words. 

"They're talking about you," Cyrus stated sadly. Janus refused to looked at him and soaked the rag in the bucket. He placed the rag into the pool of broth that lay like a small lake on the floor. 

"Yeah, so? It wasn't my fault. The dish, it slipped. I couldn't grab it." 

"They're saying you're-" 

"Strange, unusual, not one of us!," came Cedrick's voice, loud and unmistakably clear. Janus stiffened, his back going ridged, small hands clenching around the rag till the knuckles were white. 

"No, he's not Cedrick! He's just a boy!," Llana countered desperately. There was a muffled gasp and Cedrick returned to the room, dragging Llana with him, his strong fingers bruising the flesh of her wrist. 

"Normal? You call this...this FREAK normal?!," the knight roared. Janus didn't move for a moment. Freak? Is that what he takes me for, Janus asked himself. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head and gazed with searing hatred at the knight. 

"Papa, Janus isn't a freak!," Cyrus cried, leaping to his feet, upsetting the chair upon which he had been sitting. He came to stand in front of his father and drew himself up to the small height he was. "Janus is no freak!," he repeated. "He's my friend!" 

"What makes you say I'm not normal?" Janus asked this with such startling calm that it seemed to break through the knight's rage. The warrior relaxed his grip on Llana who stumbled away, rubbing her bruised wrist. She drew Cyrus to her and pulled him away. They stood beside Janus who still knelt on the floor. 

"You are strange and weird, boy! You are not normal. I feel a strange power about you that I did not feel whenst we first were aquatinted. Canst you deny my accusations? Do you dare defy me to say you are normal?," Cedrick cried. Janus shook his head. 

"I am not normal, nor am I unusual. We are, each one of us, different. That's what makes us unique," the former prince stated. "I'm sorry if you do not like me, but I get the impression that it isn't me you are trying to hurt, but your wife." 

"Why you impertinent little-" 

"Ah, now I dare YOU, sir knight. I dare YOU to defy me!," Janus interrupted with a laugh. "Tell me. Why is it that Cyrus bears a remarkable resemblance to Toma Levine rather than to you, sir? Could it be because-" He broke off in mid sentence. He had the satisfaction to see Cedrick's face blanche, but he hadn't counted on Llana growing, if that was possible, more pale. Janus looked over at Cyrus. No, for his sake, he could not voice the suspicions that swam about in his head. 

"I want you to get yourself gone boy," Cedrick whispered through white lips. "I never want to set eyes on your face again." With that, he turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs. A door opened and slammed a few moments later. Janus turned to Llana. 

The woman shook her head sadly and took hold of Cyrus's hand. She brushed past the former prince without a word. "Mistress Llana....I'm sorry for all-" 

She cut him off. "I think my husband is right, Janus. You don't belong here. You're from another time, another place." 

Janus caught his breath at that. "I don't know what-" 

"You are different from us, and that scares Cedrick. He is used to the constant things in life, the normal world around him. Then you come and his daily routine has been upset. It's not just the dishes. There is something about your presence that makes him feel uncomfortable." She lowered here eyes. "He's afraid of you, Janus. And so am I. Afraid of you and for you." For a moment she was silent. Then she said, "Please take what you need from the pantry. I believe it would help us all if you would leave as soon as possible." 

"Momma, no!," Cyrus wailed. "Where will Janus go? He's my friend! He's my friend! Anything he did he can undo, can't you Janus?," he turned pleading eyes to the boy. "Please! Don't send Janus away!" 

"Hush, now, Cyrus. Don't make a scene. Janus understands, don't you?," his mother stated, putting her arms around the distraught boy. Janus nodded once, coldly. 

"I understand perfectly." 

Cyrus stared at him and his eyes filled with tears. "You'll always be my friend, Janus. I'll never forget you," he said. Breaking away from his mother, the boy bolted up the stairs and out of sight. The remaining two people stood together in silence for a moment. 

Janus broke the silence. "Thank you for giving me shelter, Mistress Llana. I'm truly sorry that I caused this episode tonight." 

"I know. Just promise me one thing, you owe me that at least." 

"I don't owe you a thing, not even a promise," Janus sneered with uncharacteristic harshness. There was something new in his eyes, a coldness that made Llana shiver and wonder if she had made a dreadful mistake in deciding to turn him out. 

"Don't tell Cyrus what you know about his heritage. I know you know about him, but he's too young to deal with this issue right now, if he doesn't know already. I dread telling him on the day he finally asks who his father really is." 

"Have no fear. I will not reveal your precious secret." He laughed at her grateful expression. "I don't do this for you, I do this for him, my friend." There. He had said it at last. Cyrus was his friend, the only one who had remained true. That thought comforted him as he turned his back on the woman who had cared for him for these past few weeks and proceeded to clean the floor once more. There was a moment of quiet, save the sound of his rag moving over the floor and of him wringing out the water into the bucket. He wasn't sure when Llana had left, but when he stood up so he could empty the bucket out the door, she was gone. 

The corners of his mouth twisted up into a bitter smile. He didn't need these cretins to shelter him. He was brave, he could handle himself just fine. Yes, he would take what these fools had so freely given to him and he'd leave to make his fortune in other places. He'd be fine...He would be...He would... 

"Must have gotten soap in my eyes," he mumbled, blinking at the sting under his eyelids that made them tear. Fumbling with the latch, Janus got the door open and tossed the water, bucket and all, outside. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned in the doorway, half in the light of the candles and lamps, half in the shadows of night. A cool wind blew his hair into his face and he pushed it back, wiping away the single tear that had trickled down his cheek. "So, I'm weird am I? Unusual?," a low chuckle rose in his throat. The boy's features drew up into a haughty, arrogant smile. "Well, we'll see how unusual I will become." So saying, he went to gather his things for his departure. 

. 

Flea followed behind Slash with a limp. She had twisted her ankle earlier when she'd stepped on a loose rock. "I'm hungery!," she whined pitifully. "Slash, I want some food and a soft bed. The swordsman leered at her. 

"I can provide you with the latter, my dear," he replied, putting an arm around her waist. She smacked his hand when he tried to pinch her bottom and he danced out of her flying fists with a laugh. He looked around, wishing he'd thought to bring a lantern on this trip. He spied a house up ahead. "Maybe whoever lives up ahead could let us stay with them for a while." 

. 

Janus stuffed the last loaf of bread into his bag, smoothing down his only other shirt. He took one last look over the house, laying down the letter he'd written for Cyrus on the table under the candle holder. He was just getting ready to leave when a knock resounded on the back door. Janus, was annoyed. Here he was trying to leave this place and he was still forced to answer the door. He lifted the bolt and opned the wooden door wide to let the light spill onto the strangers. One was a plain woman and her male companion was a tall, bluish, ugly man with squinty eyes. "Can I help you?," Janus asked. The pair outside gaped at him in shock and suddenly smiled wickedly at each other. 

The man laughed and put an arm around the woman's shoulders. "Baby, I think we're going home!" 

. 


	10. Alliances of Treachery

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 9**

**Alliances Of Treachery**

By ZealPropht 

"We've been looking for you a long time, little rabbit," the man said, leaning on the door frame. 

"Oh, really?," Janus replied, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. "Why?" 

"Oh, no reason in particular..." 

"Then why don't you take your ugly face and your ugly wife or mother or whoever she is and leave? I really am in a hurry," Janus stated. The woman went red. 

"Why you-" 

She was interrupted by the man's laughing. "Good shot, kid. I could get to like you." 

"Oh, joy. Just what I wanted in life." Janus rolled his eyes and snorted. "Look, is there a point that you guys are here? I mean, besides to annoy me?" 

"Certainly. We're here...for you!" The man lunged at Janus so suddenly the boy nearly stumbled into his clutches. Blind luck saved him and he sidestepped enough so that the man went hurtling past and into the table. It went over with a heavy thud. The woman sneered. 

"Oh, c'mon, Slash! You can do better then that! Do I have to do everything myself?" Waving her hand, the woman stepped into the room, bruising her fingertips across the door frame. Janus felt a faint vibration in his jaws and knew a spell of some sort had been cast. "Just to make sure you don't get away before we've had a chance to play together," the woman laughed. 

Her hand shot out and grabbed the collar of his shirt. "I hope you don't bruise easily, kid. I play kinda rough!" 

"So do I," Janus said, squirming away and biting her hand, deep enough to draw blood. The woman shrieked and slapped him hard across the face. The boy reeled back and fell up against the wall. 

"You little leech!," she cried, and before his color-splotched eyes, she changed. Her homely appearance transformed into haughty features, sculpted with such alien beauty that she was almost other worldly. "No one bites me and gets away with it!" 

"What is going on down there?!," came Cedrick's voice from above. 

"Oh, great, Flea! You've woken up the entire household!," Slash mumbled, raising himself off the fallen table, wincing and holding his ribs. He'd have a bruise there tomorrow. "Just kill the brat and be done with it!" He dropped his disguise as well. The milk was spilt, no sense in keeping up the facade if it would be for nothing. 

"My pleasure!," Flea grinned. She raised her hands, yellow energy surrounding them. "It's been fun, kid, but playtime is over." Janus stared at the magic forming around the Mystic's hands. There was no where to run! 

Sir Cedrick abruptly rushed into the room. "Mystics?!," he exclaimed. "Halt, fiends or taste cold steel!" The knight was dressed in a striped night shirt and cap, his mustache bristling like a the whiskers on an angry cat. In his hand gleamed a sword. Slash laughed and drew his own weapon from it's sheathe. 

"Looks like I'll have some fun on this trip after all!," he chuckled. The two men lunged at each other and locked their swords, each one trying to force their opponent back. "Not bad, old man!" 

"Old man?! Villain! Prepare to be vanquished!," Cedrick howled. He pushed Slash back a step and cut at his throat. Slash dodged and parried the blow with the flat of his blade. The swordsman cut at Cedrick's legs but the old knight was agile and danced gracefully out of harm's way. 

"Is that the best thou canst do, cur?," Cedrick laughed. Twirling his blade, he feigned a low cut but turned it upward. Slash was stepping back and tripped over the fallen table, saving himself from being impaled by blind luck. He rolled to his feet just in time to meet another series of onslaughts. 

Meanwhile, Janus and Flea had been watching all of this. Janus didn't move lest he draw the female Mystic's attention back to himself, but a plan was forming in his head. If he could just find the right opportunity... 

Flea pantomimed fighting someone with her fists. "Yeah! Give him the good old one two, Slash! No, you idiot, duck! Whew! That was close. Look out, look out! Ha! Lucky shot! Oops. Missed that opening." Flea was so enthusiastic, she looked like a little girl. "C'mon Slash! Finish the job!" 

Cedrick was breathing heavily and he suffered minor wounds from the Mystic's flashing blade, unlike the younger man who was relatively untouched. It was then that the knight made a grave mistake. He over extended a lunge and Slash caught him on the arm, cutting deep. Cedrick's arm fell useless to his side, his blade clattering on the floor. 

"Ouch! That's gonna leave a mark! Go for the kill, Slash! Go for the kill!," Flea chanted. Slash bowed to his audience while Cedrick put his hand over the wound, trying to stanch the blood-flow. 

"And now, for your viewing pleasure, I will mangle this knight beyond recognition!," Slash chuckled. From out of nowhere, Cyrus jumped out and hit the Mystic over the head with a heavy iron shield. Slash went down like a poled ox. 

"Kid, you just messed with the wrong people," Flea snarled. "This time I won't hold back!" A wave of energy lashed Cyrus who cried out in pain. "Let's play, level of endurance. How long do you think you can survive before my magic finally kills you?" 

Now!, thought Janus. Just as Flea was lifting her hands for another energy blast, the boy bowled into her, knocking her into the kitchen counter. Her headlong decent knocked over the oil lamp, spilling the contents all over her. The flaming liquid fell on her clothes, igniting her instantly...as well as the wooden floor. Flames raced along the room and up the walls. Being of shoddy construction, the whole house was soon ablaze. 

"Cyrus! Where is your mother?," Cedrick asked the boy. 

"I don't know," he replied. "She was right behind me when I came down to help you. Maybe she ran outside." Cedrick grunted and quickly went up the stairs, calling Llana's name. She wasn't in the upper stories. Cyrus must be right, she was probably outside. Cyrus ran over to Janus who sported a bruise on his cheek where Flea had struck him. "Come on! We need to get out of here!" 

Janus tried to reply but he choked on the smoke. He waved that he would follow after them. Cyrus looked dubious but a huge beam of wood tumbled down from above, barely missing them. Another one fell, partially blocking the front door. 

"Cyrus! Hurry, boy!," Cedrick shouted, grabbing his son's hand and dragging him towards the door. Cyrus struggled. 

"But what about Janus? And mother? Was she in the house?" 

"No, your mother is not in the house. Hurry, Cyrus. This place is sure to collapse any moment!" 

Cyrus looked frantically back at Janus who was dodging falling wood and flames trying to reach them. "But what about Janus? Father, you can't leave Janus!" 

"I shall return and help him out as well." The knight lifted the squirming boy and pushed him between the burning wood and the door frame. Cyrus tumbled outside, the breath knocked out of him when he landed. Llana ran up and grabbed her son by the shoulders. 

"You stupid boy! I told you not to go running into that blaze! You could have been killed!," she yelled, hugging Cyrus and crying at the same time. "Don't ever scare me like that again! Why didn't you follow me like I told you to? Don't you know that you're too young to try and fight Mystics?" The woman pulled him back from the burning building. "Are you all right? Are you burned? Did those Mystic's hurt you?" 

"I'm fine, mother. Really. But Janus is still trapped in there!" 

Inside the house, Janus was running across the fiery room to reach Cedrick when a large support beam fell on him, pinning him to the floor under it's weight. One end was smoldering and it wouldn't be soon before the whole thing caught fire. "Help! Sir Cedrick! Help! I'm stuck!," he shouted. The knight turned and gave him a blank look. "I'm caught! Sir Cedrick, help me! Please!" 

To Janus' horror, the knight's face went cold and grave. "Good riddance to evil. Die here with these villains!" He gestured to the comatose Slash and Flea, who had finally doused herself and had fallen to her knees moaning. "It is no more then you deserve. You have poisoned my son and wife against me, but that ends here! Farewell, devil. Return to whatever void spawned you." With those dreadful words, Sir Cedrick, knight of Guardia, scrambled through the doorway, just as more wood fell over it, blocking all possible escape. 

He couldn't believe it! Cedrick had left him to die, and die a painful, agonizing, hideous death at that. To his right, Slash stirred. He lifted his head, shook it, and groaned. 

"Oh, man! I feel like I was knocked over the head with a shield! Oh, wait. I was. Never mind," he grumbled. Opening his eyes, he coughed on the smoke and had to squint, the fire's heat burning his eyes. The Mystic crawled over to his sword and replaced it in it's scabbard. Standing up unsteadily, he limped over to where Flea sat curled into a ball. "C'mon, baby. Let's get out of here." 

Flea looked up, her lovely face made an ugly black and red from soot and burns. "I don't think I can make it, Slash. The pain...!" She choked and covered her face with her hands. "Don't look at me! That little monster ruined my face. I'm hideous." Suddenly, she raised her head and looked directly at Janus. "You'll pay for this! I swear, you'll pay!" She jumped to her feet and rushed at him. But Slash restrained her. Another beam of wood hurtled to the floor. 

"Whoa! No way! Unless we get out of here now we'll roast alive." He roughly grabbed Flea's arm and thrust her towards the door. "Undo the spell." She barely heard him for she was screeching threats of torture and obscenities at Janus. Slash shook her, hard. "You idiot! Undo the spell! I'm to young to fry!" 

"But that blue-haired son-of-a-" 

"Will surely die in this blaze as will we if you don't get us out of here, Flea!," Slash shouted impatiently. "Leave the boy to the flames and get us outta here! I refuse to die with you!" Flea looked back uncertainly at Janus. "DO IT!" 

"All right," she conceded reluctantly. Waving a hand, the spell vanished. Slash shoved Flea out of his way and ran out. The other Mystics paused, much the same way Cedrick had, and spat at him. "Be lucky, rodent! This death is infinitely preferable then the one you'd meet at my hands." Then she was gone. 

Janus coughed and covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. He could barely breathe. The fire was sucking out all the air. So this was it then. He was doomed to die in flames, pinned under a beam. The thought stung more then the heat on his skin. It was so...pathetic! What a way to die! 

"It's not fair!," he moaned. "It's not FAIR! I never asked for any of this. All I wanted was to be part of a family, to have my mother and my sister and Alfador. I never asked to have magic! I never wanted to come to this rotten place!" A creaking sound from overhead told him that the house would soon cave in. "I swear that if I survive, I will find a way to make these miserable cretins be sorry for what they've done to me!" Another crack from overhead said that the possibility of him surviving was not very probable. 

Raw emotions surged through him. It's not fair!, he kept repeating to himself. I never asked for any of this! One hand groped for the medallion Schala had given him. It's chiseled edges bit into his skin as he grasped it tightly. The metal was hot, the pain burned, but it only fueled his anger. Sudden resolution formed in his mind. "I will survive!," he whispered. Another crack from above. "I _will_ survive!" The ceiling was beginning to give way. "I WILL!" Grabbing a handful of that raw energy, Janus pushed with all his mental strength on the beam pinning him. The wood moved slowly at first, lifting centimeter by centimeter until it suddenly flew off of him. Not wasting a minute, he hurled himself out the door, seconds before the house collapsed on it's self. 

Sparks were falling everywhere around him. The grass was damp with dew so luckily it didn't catch fire as well. It's coolness felt so good against his hot skin. "I need to get back to the others," he mumbled, getting to his feet. Janus backed away from the burning house and circled around the building, the firelight throwing dancing shadows everywhere. As he came around the corner, he saw Cyrus and his family and was about to rush forward when he noticed something. Cyrus was calling his name and being restrained by his mother for he was trying to rush back into the inferno. 

"Janus! Let me go! Janus!," Cyrus was crying, his face a mask of pure grief. Llana kept firm hold on her son. 

"Cyrus, there is nothing we can do. Janus is gone...," she said. Janus nearly laughed and stepped out of the shadows to say he was all right and put their fears to rest. But Cedrick walked up and knelt beside his son. He took Cyrus's shoulders in his hands. 

"Listen to me Cyrus. By the time I couldst returneth there, the boy had been struck down by a piece of wood. He was trapped, and though I tried to save him, it was for naught. The ceiling was collapsing and he begged me to save myself lest we both perish in the flames," the knight lied. Janus felt anger as hot as the fire boil up inside. But he held his peace...for the moment. 

"You shouldn't have left him there! You should have saved him! You left him to die, didn't you?!," Cyrus shouted at the man whom he called father. "Janus was my friend and you despised him for being different then us. Well, I'll despise you for as long as I live! Even if you are a knight, and my father, you will have no love from me. You are without honor! You-" Cedrick's hands tightened on Cyrus's shoulders and hurled him away. 

"I will not listen to such insolence from my own son!," he roared. "You are never to speak to me of that boy again, do you understand?! He is dead, an end to his evil. Now we may return to our lives in peace." Cyrus opened his mouth to protest. "I will hear NO MORE!" 

Janus melted back into the shadows, more easily then he would have guessed. He could never return here, he knew. The new enmity Cyrus felt for his father could never be fully erased, nor could the resentment and anger Janus felt for Cedrick after leaving him there under the beam. No, this part of his life was over now. It would be best if no one remembered the blue-haired boy who had wandered down from Truce Canyon that day, not so long ago. Or if they did, it would be to think sadly upon his "death". He had a feeling that it would be for the best. 

The light from the fire grew dimmer and dimmer the further he walked into the woods. A thick ground fog swirled around his legs and a near-full moon shone brightly in the sky, illuminating the night as if it were day. Things rustled in the bushes around him. An owl hooted from somewhere close by and swooped away on silent wings, throwing it's shadow over him briefly. But these sounds were not menacing, as one might expect. They were the normal sounds of the night, a very soothing and relaxing sound. As Janus walked, he became increasingly aware of a funny sound. It sounded like a wood dove he had once heard. Yet it was louder and more distressed. 

Curious, he followed the sound. The noise led him to a clearing where the moon shone in huge splashes of light through the trees. Janus stared around him at the beauty. Night-blooming flowers seemed to twinkle with starlight on their petals. Colorful mushrooms glowed with rainbow colors that brightened the night. Stepping into the glade, his foot snapped a twig. 

A figure he hadn't seen leapt to it's feet. Janus froze. "Slash! Don't scare me like that! You know I'm in no mood for your jokes. If you ever-" The figure turned. It was Flea. She was scorched from head to toe, her clothes little more then blackened rags. Though her face was grimy with soot, the magician had probably cast some sort of healing spell because she looked almost healed. Except for a few angry blotches, she looked back to normal. "YOU!," she howled. "How could you have survived?!" 

Janus considered running but something held him back. No, he wouldn't run. Not this time. Not anymore. "I'm stronger then you think, lady," he stated. Flea raised her hands. 

"Well, we'll see about that!," she yelled. Electric waves shot at him, but surprisingly, he wasn't afraid of being hit. The lightning swirled around him, making his hair stand on end, but that was all. He laughed and the energy dissipated as if it had never been. "How did you do that? You're just a kid!," Flea whispered. 

Janus shrugged. He really didn't know himself, but he would have more then stupid if he let her know that. "Don't underestimate me. I may be a kid, but I throw a nasty tantrum." 

"You're right. I did underestimate you. But no matter. No one survives my Waltz of Wind." The Mystic literally flew at him and grabbed his hands. Wind blew around them, lifting them high into the air. They spun faster and faster. A look down showed that they were high above the ground. In the distance, he could see the smoldering remains of Cyrus's house. "So long, brat!," Flea shouted gleefully above the wind. She released her hold on Janus, expecting him to fall from the sky like a rock to splatter on the ground below. But the little spore had hold of her wrists in a death-grip. "What're you doing? Let me go!" Flea struggled, the faint taste of fear touching her heart. Perhaps this kid was stronger then she thought. 

Janus sensed the Mystic losing control. He reveled in the fear he caused her. Laughing cruelly, he looked into her eyes with a mesmerizing gaze. "Didn't your dance instructor tell you that men do the leading in the waltz?" Abruptly, he let go of her wrists and she slammed into a tree with brutal force, carried by the momentum of their spinning. The wind carrying Janus set him gently on the ground and dissipated. Flea slid weakly down from the tree, leaving an imprint of her body on the bark. 

"This isn't my day!," she moaned, putting her hands to her head. Janus was about to make a cutting retort when blinding pain exploded on the back of his skull. Moments before the world went black, he caught sight of Slash's grinning face and then everything was gone. He felt himself falling to the ground, but instead of hitting the earth, it seemed like he fell through it, spiraling downward into oblivion. 

. 

"It's lucky I came back when I did. This kid is stronger then we imagined. I can't believe he beat us twice," Slash commented, sheathing his sword. "I hope I didn't hit him too hard." 

"Why not? This brat deserves to die after what he did to me!," Flea muttered with a curse. Slash rolled his eyes. 

"Would you stop being stupid for a second and listen to me? Now, I've been thinking about this situation-" 

"Will wonders never cease?," Flea remarked sarcastically. 

"Can you possibly shut up for once in your life?!," Slash snapped in exasperation. Flea did as she was told, sitting on a rock and pulling her knees up to her chest. "Now, as I was saying, I've been thinking about the situation and I believe I have a solution." 

"And what, pray tell, do you have in mind?" 

"I say we take the kid to Ozzie." 

"WHAT?! Are you out of your mind, Slash?! We should kill the boy now! As long as he stays alive, he will be a threat to us!" 

"You're not thinking, Flea, though that's not a first for you," Slash commented dryly. "We both can't take him on alone and perhaps he could be useful to us. Remember how we always wanted to find a reason to convince Ozzie why we should attack the humans?" 

"Well, ya, but I don't see-" 

"Of course you don't. That's why you need a big picture person like me to point out the obvious to dummies like you." Slash crossed his arms and leaned against a tree. "This kid is obviously not from around here, or at least if he is, he has powers we've never seen in a human before. And he's young, that means he's impressionable. If we could just get him to understand our cause, he could make a powerful weapon. Then, when his use is through, we could kill him." 

"Well, you might have a point, Slash. But let's let Ozzie decide the final outcome of the boy's fate," Flea replied. For once Slash did have a really good idea. She had always thought that Ozzie was a weak leader and an even weaker spell-caster. The Mystics needed someone like her to lead them. If this little spore could be turned, perhaps she could use him to gain her the position she craved. She'd let Ozzie wear down the kid's resistance and then, if he still did not turn, she would break him till he did. 

Slash was thinking along similar tracks. Ozzie was no fighter, that was for certain. He preferred to run, rather then face his opponents. That's why Slash thought he should be in charge. The Mystics would benefit from having a strong tactician ruling them. He needed Ozzie to take the kid in order, set him straight about who he should be following. Not the wimpy humans, that was for sure! And if the kid did decide to join, it could well prove the battle Slash had sought for so long, a battle against the humans to decide who was truly fit to run Guardia Kingdom. 

. 

Ozzie, great leader of the Mystic hoards, floated down he wide halls of his fort with a tin plate in his hand. On it was a slice of stale bread and a hunk of moldy cheese. "I don't see why I have to be reduced to menial labor!," he whined. "I'm a leader, darn it! I shouldn't have to do my own chores!" He lifted the cheese off the plate and smelt it. He made a face. "If Flea were here, I wouldn't be forced to eat this garbage!" 

The interior of the fort was dark and gloomy, with gargoyles holding torches in their hands, faces leering gruesomely at anyone who passed by A threadbare red carpet muffled the skitter of rat's clawed feet as they hurried after Ozzie in hopes of the cheese he might give them. "Shoo! Go away!," he snapped, casting a weak lightning spell that shocked the rodents. They ran off squealing with singed tails. "Stupid animals!" 

Suddenly, a great big spider with huge blue eyes came down on it's silken thread and blinked at Ozzie. He screamed and threw the plate full of food into the air. "A sp-sp-spider!," he shrieked. Practically falling over with fear, he beat at the eight-legged menace with the metal saucer. "Eww! Kill it! Kill it!" The spider swung frantically this way and that to keep from being thwacked, then it disappeared. Ozzie looked around, but he couldn't see it. An itchy feeling went down his spine. "Ahhh!," he bellowed, dancing around shaking his robes, trying to shake the spider out. Finally, it tumbled out and ran off into a crack in the wall. Ozzie dropped his plate and vanished to his throne room. "Yuck! Disgusting!" 

If Slash were here, he would have chopped that spider in two, Ozzie thought sourly, twitching. He could still feel the cold little spider feet moving over him. It made his slimy green flesh crawl. Hovering over to his "throne", the Mystic leader seated his bulk into the tiny space. The throne was actually a creaky rocking chair with moth-eaten gold cloth draped over it. Rocking back and forth, he nearly toppled from his seat when the huge double-doors flew open and Slash and Flea walked in, carrying a large burlap sack between them. 

"Where have you two been?!," Ozzie growled. "I've been having to do my own work around here for weeks now, and it's getting old really fast." He looked to Flea and smirked. "What happened? Get a little too close to the fire while toasting some smores?" 

Slash laughed really hard and slapped his knee in mirth. Flea was less the jovial, however. "Yeah, yuck it up, you two. As a matter of fact, I sacrificed my clothes for the sake of the Mystics. I should be given a shiny new medal for my outfit...at least, what's left of it...." 

"What's in the bag?," Ozzie asked eagerly. "It wouldn't happen to be treats like jerky or cider, would it?" 

"Always thinking with your stomach, Ozzie," Slash grinned, upending the bag. Janus toppled out and looked around. Ozzie jumped back in alarm. 

"A human?! You brought a human here? To my fortress? And a child, no less!" Ozzie poked Janus who tried to bite his finger. "Ack! I hope the little beast has had all it's shots!," he cried, snatching his hand back. 

"This is the source of that power surge we felt so many weeks ago," Slash said, flicking Janus on the ear. The boy yelped and rubbed the tender spot. "Anyway, he has incredible magic powers. He fought Flea to a standstill, twice!" 

"Just keep rubbing it in," she snapped under her breath. "It was Slash's brilliant idea to bring him back here. I say, we should have killed the virus on the spot!" She ended this with a savage kick to the boy's side. He fell over, gasping for breath, clutching his stomach. 

"Who are you, boy? Where did you come from?," Ozzie demanded. Janus struggled to sit up. His head hurt like a volcano erupting and his side was going to be bruised. He took a deep breath and spit at Ozzie's feet. 

"That's all you're getting from me, lard-butt! I'm not telling you anything!," he hissed. For a moment, it looked as if Ozzie was going to hit him but suddenly, the Mystic leader laughed. 

"You've got style, my boy," he chuckled. "What's your name?" 

Janus sat in stubborn silence...untill a wrenching force seemed to be tearing open his jaws, forcing him to speak. Ozzie must have seen this because he pointed at Flea who suddenly gagged. The pressure on his jaws relaxed and Flea fell to her knees choking for air. 

"Don't ever do that again, you miserable cretin!," the fat green imp growled. "If I need help questioning a prisoner, I'll ask for it!" 

"Yes...O-Ozzie....," she coughed. Janus gently massaged his jaw. Slash put a hand on his shoulder in an almost, almost, friendly way. 

"Why don't you just tell us your story, kid. Believe me, it will save you allot of pain in the end," the blue swordsman suggested. Janus considered these words carefully. He was tired, and aching, and all he wanted to do was die on the spot. He was afraid, though he would be damned if he'd show it to these miscreants. 

"My name is Janus. I'm just a kid. I don't know how I got here, only one morning here I was. I came from a kingdom far away, but I think it's been destroyed in my absence," he complied. Ozzie paced, hovering above the floor, robes softly swishing. 

"An what of your power? How did you get to be so strong?," he asked. Janus breathed deeply. At least now he wouldn't have to lie. 

"I was born with it. It usually isn't so strong. But lately, it's been acting funny. Kind of turning on and off at will." 

"Hmm." Ozzie rubbed a flabby hand over his triple chins. He turned to the swordsman. "Slash, what makes you think that Flea isn't right and that we should kill the kid?" The swordsman shrugged. 

"Just a feeling," he said matter-of-factly. Flea snickered dryly. 

"Oh, yes! That is something we definitely want to put our lives on. Your feeling...Maybe you aren't having a feeling but some indigestion!" 

Slash put his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I've killed men, and women, for less!," he snarled. "My gut says that we shouldn't kill this boy and I'll stand by it to the death!" He pulled Slasher from it's scabbard. Flea raised her hands defensively. 

"The brat may have beaten me, Slash, but I know you never could!," she laughed. She placed herself on the other side of the boy so that he was in the middle. "Wanna try it and risk losing your precious little pet, Slash?" 

"Enough!," Ozzie bellowed. "Slash! Put that butter knife away before you hurt yourself," he snapped. Slash jammed Slasher back into the casing with a violent clang. "Flea, go change into something decent. I need to talk to Slash, privately." 

Flea got to her feet and swirled the tattered remains of her cape. She vanished into thin air. Ozzie and Slash moved to the far corner of the room, leaving Janus to sit where he was left. He wasn't going anywhere. This was fine by the boy, however, because he really didn't care what was going to happen to him. He just really didn't care. 

"So what's on your mind, Ozzie?," Slash asked as soon as they were out of Janus' hearing. The Mystic leader leaned forward. 

"I don't believe his story, do you? I mean, no one can attain that much magic by themselves. It's not natural. Not even us Mystics are born with such power," he said. Slash leaned against the cold stone wall. 

"What're you trying to say?" 

"What I'm saying is that I think he's keeping more to himself then what he told us." 

"Want I should pry it out of him?," Slash grinned, flexing his hands and cracking his knuckles. It sounded like bones snapping. 

"I wish you wouldn't do that, Slash! You know it grosses me out!," Ozzie complained with a whine. "Anyway, I have a theory about this Janus." He paused and looked Slash straight in the eye. "I believe that you guys were right when you said you thought he might have been some sort of human magical weapon to use against us." 

"I don't know, Ozzie. Now that I think about it, I think we might have been wrong," Slash replied, running a hand over his bald blue head. 

"Oh, c'mon Slash! You can't be serious. I mean, it's rather obvious that we're on the right track. Maybe he's not a weapon, but what if the humans are breeding new strains of magic-users like this Janus kid? Imagine what Guardia would be like with a bunch of people like him running loose." 

"Oh, cripes! You're right!," Slash gasped when the concept sank in. "That would be awful. They'd blow us to smithereens!" 

"Exactly!," Ozzie crowed. "What better way to stop this from happening then to turn one of their own against them?" 

"Use Janus?" 

Ozzie applauded sarcastically. "Bravo, Slash! Now you're catching on! If this little menace can be turned to our side, think of the advantages we could have? Why, in a couple of years with the proper training, we could have a veritable war machine on our hands! Think how THAT would tip the odds in our favor!" 

"But this kid is stubborn, Ozzie. How are we gonna win him to our side of the fence?" 

"You leave that to me," Ozzie replied, a devious look coming into his pig-like eyes. "You and Flea worry about the training. You guys will have a full work load ahead of you." The Mystic leader made a shooing motion. "Now beat it. I need to talk to your new pupil alone for a moment or two." 

Slash bowed and did as he was told, fading out of sight as the lights dimmed and returned to normal. Ozzie hovered over to Janus who was barely awake. "Are you going to kill me yet?," he mumbled. "If you are, do it now so I can go to bed." He finished with a yawn. 

"We're not going to kill you, not if you do what we want you to do," Ozzie replied bluntly. "We want you to work for us, my boy." 

"Why?," Janus blinked. "What's in it for me?" 

"A means to make your revenge!" 

Janus woke up instantly. He smiled. "Tell me more." 

. 


	11. Painful Lessons and Ozzie's Plotting

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 10**

**Painful Lessons And Ozzie's Plotting**

By ZealPropht 

"This will be your room while you're here," Ozzie said, pushing open the door to a small, cramped room that looked more like an incredibly short hallway. It's one window was barred and out of Janus' reach. The furnishings were an old cracked desk with a wobbly wooden chair. The desk had four drawers with tarnished knobs that gleamed dully in the light of the small metal chandelier that hung overhead. It was made of black wrought iron with wicked spikes pointing downward. The spikes looked like they were just waiting for someone unsuspecting to walk under them where they would swoop down and impale themselves in warm flesh. Janus shuddered involuntarily. The only other objects in the room were a small table beside an unstable looking bed. The only consolation was that despite the unsavory appearance of everything, it was relatively clean. 

"My room? It's more like a cell," Janus remarked. "Am I an prisoner then?" 

"No, just a high-security guest," Ozzie replied quickly, not liking the glint that came into the boy's violet eyes. He hoped Janus wouldn't start any trouble. The boy sniffed disdainfully. He knew that Ozzie was lying. He may not have been a fully condemned prisoner, but freedom was a luxury that was apparently going to be denied him. But it was no matter. The fat Mystic had promised him a means of revenge, a means of power. Ozzie had promised that he would be taught how to use magic correctly, which was all that really counted. For a moment he thought back to his lessons at Zeal. It was about time he settled down and really applied himself to learning. In this place, his life would most probably depend on it. 

"So, when will my lessons begin?," Janus asked, hesitantly sitting on the bed. When it didn't immediately break under his weight, he allowed himself to relax slightly. 

"That depends on Slash and Flea. They will be conducting your training." He almost smiled when the boy frowned at the mention of Flea. So, there was some bad blood between them after all. Flea would definitely be gunning for Janus and the Mystic was sure that Janus would do his hardest to take Flea down as well. This could prove useful. He'd have to discuss these things with his Captains. "Anyway, get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'll show you around your new home." 

Janus grunted and pulled back the skimpy covers, checking for any bugs or animals. When he found none, he gingerly scooted under the covers. He gave Ozzie a sharp look. "Do you plan to stand there all night or will you let me get some sleep?" 

Ozzie shrugged. "G'night, my boy. Sleep well." Waving his hand, the chandelier went out, throwing the room into darkness except for the light of the moon which shone in a square patch on the stone floor. When Janus' breathing had evened out into sleep, the Mystic left. "Sleep well indeed," he chuckled to himself as he floated down the empty halls of his home. "It will be the last restful night you'll have for a while." 

. 

When Janus was sure Ozzie was really gone, he rolled out of bed and went over to the door. It was locked, of course. He leaned against the rough wood for a moment or two before stepping into the puddle of moonlight. He held up the amulet Schala had given him. "Finally I have a means to return to you, my sister. These fools will teach me the magic I need to find a way back to Zeal. I'll find a way to stop the destruction Lavos caused. We'll be together soon, I promise." Crawling back into bed, Janus closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep and if he dreamed, they were pleasant ones of being reunited with Schala at last. 

. 

Flea hurled another vase into the air and blasted it with a fireball. The plush carpet was strewn with the remnants of other vases she'd destroyed. Slash sat idly in a deep cushioned chair, one leg hanging casually over the arm. Slasher was unsheathed and lay across his lap. One hand cradled it gently while the other used a whetstone to sharpen the already keen edge. His hand moved in a slow, seductive rhythm, almost as if he were caressing a lover. 

"I can't _believe_ this!," Flea howled, tossing another unfortunate vase into the air. She wound up her arm and cast an ice spell. The vase froze instantly and broke into a million ice shards when it hit the floor. "I refuse to tutor that sniveling brat! I'd sooner kill myself then teach him any of my precious art." 

"C'mon sweet stuff. Don't have a cow, as the human's say. Think of the advantages we'll have over the humans. We can finally kick Ozzie off the throne, such as it is, and one of us can rule. Isn't that what we've always planned? And now we can attack the humans as well. What more could you ask for? We're perfectly poised to create plans for the future." He paused to run a finger along the edge of the blade. The razor edge lightly cut his finger, a single drop of blood sliding down the edge of the metal. He wiped the blade clean with a soft rag and sucked on the cut. "If you don't screw this thing up, we should do just fine." 

Flea wiped her arm across her forehead. She'd changed into a tight, off-the-shoulder sleeveless vest with rust colored pants. A white cape was draped over her slender shoulders and trailed down her back until it brushed the tops of her ankle-high boots, the tops folded down. Her hair, recently washed and combed, was pulled back into a braid. She came over and removed Slash's sword from his hands, leaning it against the chair. She sat in his lap and put her arms around his neck. 

"Now, this is more like it!," he grinned, putting his arms around her waist. Flea smiled slightly. "It's about time you were a little friendly with me." 

"Oh, it is?," she said, raising an eyebrow. She leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. "Well, maybe if you weren't so ugly, I would be!" So saying, she put a magic-created ice cube down his shirt. 

"Why, you...!!," he sputtered, leaping to his feet, knocking Flea to the floor where she lay laughing. Slash jumped around trying to shake out the ice before it melted. Finally, the little chunk fell to the carpet. He glared at Flea who was holding her sides and rolling around. "That...was NOT nice!" 

"I'm not in the nice business!," Flea replied, looking up at him. She held out a hand to him for him to help her up. Slash grimaced and grasped her hand, groaning as he pulled her to her feet. Flea patted his cheek. "Sorry, _baby_!," she laughed, using his own phrase against him. 

"You better look out, Flea. One of these days you're gonna push it too far and then I'll-" 

"You'll what, Slash?," came a new voice as Ozzie appeared. The lights went out and his bulk appeared in a blinding white glare. When the lights came on again, Ozzie hovered his way over to the two Mystic captains. "Are you threatening Flea again?" 

"Yes, I am! Do you know what she did to me?!" 

"I can imagine," Ozzie leered. Flea curled her lip in disgust. 

"Huh! As if, Ozzie! Slash isn't quite that lucky!," she snapped, turning her back on them and going to pout by the big window that opened out to a large balcony. She crossed her arms. 

"Oh, Flea, honey, don't be so childish!," Slash, sighed, rolling his eyes. "It was a joke." 

"Don't call me that, Slash. I'm a guy!," she replied tartly. 

Ozzie rubbed his flabby hands together in a sign of merriment. "Incidentally, Flea, I have some news that might help cheer you up." 

"And what might that be?" 

"I wanted to talk to you about your teaching methods, both of you," Ozzie stated. "Trust me, you'll like what I have to say." The two captains gave each other questioning looks and pulled up chairs. Ozzie floated over to the big cushioned chair and seated himself. He sank rather deep and it looked as if he might never be able to get out again. 

"Okay, so what's this happy news?," Slash asked. 

"This boy, Janus, he's very smart, don't you think?" 

"Yeah, so?" 

Ozzie grinned. "I was just thinking. If he's so smart, what's to keep him from turning on us?" He pressed on before they could answer. "I had an idea. Right now, he's thinking as a human, with human principles. We need him to think like a Mystic, or else he won't last ten seconds in our world." 

"I see what you mean, O Fearless Leader, but how is that supposed to cheer me up?," Flea questioned acidly. Ozzie raised his hand as if to backhand her and the Mystic magician flinched. Seeing that she was properly cowed, he continued. 

"Reflex instincts aren't trained, they are developed. We need to instill such instincts in this little rabbit if he's to be any use to us. This is where you two come in." The Mystic leader leaned forward as much as his bulk would allow. The sight looked like a marshmallow imploding on itself. "I want you to be brutal to him in your training. Knock him senseless for all I care. Make him fear you. Teach him what it means to take orders from superiors. Maybe that will knock some of the arrogance out of him." 

Flea flexed her fingers. "This will be a piece of cake! Give me five minutes with him and I'll have him on his knees begging for death!" 

"No, you simpleton!," Ozzie roared. "We need him pliable, but not broken. The boy needs to have a killer instinct. All three of us can feel the approach of an enemy. Even in the deepest sleep, the slightest pin-drop will wake us and alert us of trouble. We can be covert and sneaky and hide our true intentions without being obvious. This innocent knows nothing of the intrigue we face daily. I'm counting on you to help guide him along the path." 

Slash shook his head, "I don't get it, Ozzie. You want us to train the boy to become a killer, right? And to do so, you want us to terrorize him and tear down his principles, instill our own, and teach him the basics of undercover subtlety?" 

"You got it!," Ozzie crowed. Slash beamed. 

"I think I'm starting to like this plan." 

. 

They say time flies when you're having fun, but time has a way, as time often does, of moving twice as slowly when you're miserable. Such was it for Janus who seemed to have fallen out of the frying pan into the fire. If he had thought life at Cyrus's house had been bad, he was not prepared to face the onslaught of torment he was now facing. Slash drilled him unmercifully in sword techniques, though the weapon was almost too heavy for Janus to wield. The blue-skinned Mystic offered no assistance, saying only that Janus better find a way to build up his muscles or else. Slash repeatedly told the boy that the punishment for a mistake in swordsmanship meant death. Unless Janus could properly handle a sword... 

By the end of the lesson, the youth was exhausted, his arms and back aching, minor cuts and dark bruises stinging like pinpricks of acid, discouraged, and bitter. What had ever prompted him to join the Mystics in the first place? He knew the reason, of course, but it chafed him like steel wool on raw skin. 

Flea's lessons were like nightmares given form. Her manner of teaching was much more harsh than anything Slash could dish up. The mental exercises she put Janus through were long and tedious, consisting of repetitive chanting of phrases. Suddenly, she would toss in an extra five words and Janus was expected to automatically add them in and remember where they went. If even once a word was lost or the diction unclear Flea would slap him, hard, and tell him to begin again. 

Flea gave him huge volumes of books to study in his free time. Since his only uninterrupted moments were in the evening, he would retire to his room. However, he soon learned that the chandelier that hung above would only stay lit for a few hours, then go out. When he'd complained about this, Flea smacked him and told him he'd better find a way to finish those books before she...and here Janus blocked out the words since they were just too cruel to be repeated. Secretly, he worked extra hard to learn the fire spell he needed to ignite the wicks of the candles on the spiked holder above his bed. The first time he tried it, the spell went wild and scorched the wall and the ceiling, not to mention melting the candles entirely. Flea harshly reprimanded him and for a good quarter of an hour, his ears were ringing from the cuffs she gave to the sides of his head. The next time, he managed to get it right, but the Mystic magician apparently thought that if the chandelier is out, it meant for him to sleep, so she knocked him around for disobeying the rules. 

The boy tried to juggle the fencing lessons and magic training so he had time to practice both. But it seemed every chance he had, one or both of his teachers found something else for him to do. It was around this time that he began learning that if he wanted to be able to do anything, he'd have to do it in secret. Mysteriously, a sword vanished from the armory. A candle in a gold holder disappeared from the entryway. Using the fire spell he'd learned, Janus lit the candle and did his studying and exercises by it's light. Twice he was almost caught, but good listening, quick timing, and sheer cleverness rewarded him. 

When he wasn't practicing memorization, the youth was forced to have sparing matches between both Flea and Slash which combined magic and steel. These tests were not easy, since it was hard to concentrate on one or the other at the same time. 

"You don't just wield the sword, kid," Slash would say as he cut at the boy's midsection. "You have to _be_ the sword. It has to become an extension of your arm. You don't think about how to use your arm, do you? Then why do you need to think about how to use the blade?" 

"Magic isn't just a tool, little spore," Flea would sneer as she blew her signature flaming kiss at him. "It's an essence, a part of you. It's like an extension of your mind. I suppose you could say it's just like organizing your thoughts. Only instead, you organize your power. You shouldn't have to think about how to do it, you just do it. What's so difficult to comprehend about that?" 

After the duo had shamelessly abused him, it left Janus with cold determination to one day show them who really was the simpleton around here. And through it all, Ozzie watched with quiet amusement from the shadows. He knew that Slash and Flea wanted his grand position, but thanks to them, they were instilling a hatred in Janus, one that would work to the fat Mystic's advantage. He'd long hoped for a person, strong, smart, and _loyal_ enough to become his personal bodyguard. Janus looked like he might be the perfect candidate. 

. 

Janus flipped through the end chapters of his latest textbook Flea had given him and sighed. Stretching the cramped muscles in his back, he leaned back against the wall. This latest edition was very dry-cut and he was having a hard time deciphering any meaning from it. He rubbed his eyes. "Maybe I should go to bed," he mumbled with a yawn. 

"Still awake, I see? Tisk, tisk! What would Flea say about that, hmm?" 

Janus jumped up from the bed, dropping the book from his lap and looked around for the speaker. His candle dimmed and a white silhouette appeared before him. As the light resumed it's normal glow, Ozzie grinned at Janus, who gulped, wondering if he was about to receive another beating. 

"Oh, don't worry," Ozzie said, as if reading his mind, "I won't tell that air-head what I saw. I just wanted to talk to you for a while." He floated over to the bed and sat down. The bed creaked alarmingly but didn't break. He patted the spot next to him. Janus returned to his seat, hesitantly, still fearing some sort of punishment. "So, how have your lessons been going?" 

"Well enough, I guess. Slash says I'm doing better than when I first started, and even Flea grudgingly admits that I have some talent in her field" 

"Really? That's good to hear. You do look dreadful, though, my boy. How are you getting along with them? On a personal basis I mean?" 

Janus shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? They're a pair of bullies. But that will soon change." 

"Want I should talk with them?," Ozzie asked causally. Inwardly, he held his breath. If this kid was a wus, he'd be no good to anyone. As he had hoped, though, Janus answered with a pleasing statement. 

"No, I'll take care of them, in my own time, in my own fashion. It isn't the correct moment yet to have the teachers be taught a lesson." 

Ozzie nodded sagely and rose to his feet. "Well, I'll leave it to you, my boy. I guess I'll be going now. I think I hear the pitter-patter of Flea feet coming down the hall." 

"What?!," Janus exclaimed. Hurriedly he blew out the candle, picked up the manuscript from the floor and tossed it on the desk, and crawled under the covers. For a moment he looked about for Ozzie, but he fat Mystics had vanished. A few seconds later, Flea opened the door and poked her head in. 

"Kid? You awake?," she whispered, almost sweetly. Janus held his breath and said nothing. "Kid?" When he still didn't answer, Flea nodded once and closed the door. Past experience has taught Janus that to answer her would mean punishment. Letting his breath out slowly, the boy adjusted the covers over his shoulders and wondered what exactly had Ozzie been after with his visit. He'd been almost...friendly. Could it be that perhaps Janus had a friend in this dark place? Shaking his head in wonderment, the youth snuggled down and went to sleep. 

. 

Ozzie floated around his throne room in good spirits. Flea and Slash were performing their roles well. If things went according to plan, Janus would turn to him for companionship, and in turn, Ozzie would use Janus for protection. Things couldn't be better....Or could they? Reaching out one chubby green hand, he pulled a bell-cord. Somewhere in the fortress a gong sounded. A few seconds later, a terrified Outlaw scrambled in. He threw himself to the floor in reverence. 

"Oh, great Ozzie! What do you wish of me?," the bird-man whined. Ozzie reclined into his throne with a smile of satisfaction. No one could match GrabbleDrek, a scheming, fawning little Outlaw with practically no ambition but to serve, with a unique talent for torturing to obtain secret information. Of all his flunkies, this particular one was his special little pet. 

"Rise, GrabbleDrek, my ever superior chief of intelligence!," Ozzie commanded grandly. "What news have you on the human situation?" GrabbleDrek did as he was bid, flicking off a speck of imaginary dust from his standard black uniform. 

"Oh, important news, my lord! Important news!" 

"Do tell!," Ozzie replied, eagerly leaning forward in his seat. 

"The old king of Guardia died this evening, just three or four hours prior to this conversation in fact. The time hasn't been pinpointed quite just yet. His son, the young Prince Ruttelard Guardia, will be ascending the throne in a few weeks once the mourning period is over." 

"Excellent! This whelp is much weaker then the old king, his father," Ozzie crowed, rubbing his hands together in glee. "How soon will the coronation ceremony be held?" 

"At the end of the month, I assume. That is the standard amount of time between rulers. In the meantime, I heard a rumor that his Excellency, the Lord High Chancellor, will be ruling as regent for the duration of the mourning cycle." 

"Hmm. What do you know of him, Drek?" 

The Outlaw smoothed a wrinkle off his sleeve. "I know that he is a corrupt coward who pilfers the royal treasures and hides the stolen goods by juggling the royal accounts. I know, too, that he is subject to bribes and strong drink and gambles a bit on the side. He's sneaky and viscous." 

"Huh! Sounds like he'd make a damn good Mystic!," Ozzie chuckled dryly. GrabbleDrek laughed appreciatively along. "Well, keep an eye on them both for me. We don't want a full scale war on our hands if they suddenly take it into their heads that they don't like Mystics. Well, more then they do, anyway. Dismissed." 

GrabbleDrek bowed and backed out of the room quickly, shutting the double-doors behind him. Ozzie rubbed his chin, a habit he'd acquired in his youth when he used to do his own scouting before he'd grown rotund and lazy. Most people thought he was a coward, and sometimes it was true, he mused. But that would soon change when he decided to lead the Mystics in a revolution. A new king on the throne would be an asset. The old King Guardia the Twentieth was a strong leader and had kept the Mystics in check for many decades. But now...Now was the time for action. They had no more then a month's time to set something into motion. But when they did, the new King Guardia the Twenty-first had better watch out! 

. 

_Who would have thought that anything of a devious nature could come from such a grotesque being as Ozzie? As time progressed, the leader of the Mystic hoards found that this new king was indeed as weak as he'd supposed. The Chancellor stepped down as regent when the allotted time was through, though many could tell he harbored some deep resentment. No more than a week passed after the heavy gold crown had been set on Ruttelard's head when Ozzie struck. He sent several raiding parties into the towns, burning and looting, small at first but time alone knew when he would start in big._

_As for Janus, 8 years passed in that dreary fortress. An entire decade of abuse and training of the most excruciating sort. By the time his 18th birthday rolled in, he stood at six feet. His hair, long neglected save for the occasional brushing, hung way down his back like a cascade of water. Though he'd never be extremely robust, he would always be too thin for that, rippling muscles had formed on his arms and torso. His shoulders were strong and broad. The lean, sleek body he now possessed flowed like liquid power, a cat stalking it's prey, and bore the scar of many a close encounter with Flea's magic or Slash's blade. His face was rather stiff and angular, never what one would call handsome, but yet in a strange way, shockingly alluring. His eyes held more expression, though, then his features ever would. Their lavender depths changed with his moods. The only emotions they now tended to portray were aggression, arrogance, which still hadn't been taken from him, and melancholy._

_He had been trained well. But he was lonely. Perhaps that's why the events that followed are not so hard to understand....._


	12. Tails! I win, You Lose!

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 11**

**Tails! I Win, You Lose!**

By ZealPropht 

Janus ducked Slash's cut and swiped at the Mystic's legs. Dancing out of harms way, he aimed a blow at the young man's shoulder. Janus blocked the singing Slasher with his own blade. The metal on metal made a grating sound, sparks flying as they connected. Janus winced. Slash laughed and twirled his sword, knocking the young man's sword away. Though the former prince still retained his grip on the hilt, he knew that he had little chance of deflecting a fatal blow. Slash lunged. Janus parried. Again the blades locked. 

"Yield!," Slash chuckled into Janus' face. The youth gritted his teeth and shoved Slash backward. "You have no choice, kid. You couldn't win this match to save your soul. I could have spitted you on my sword had I wanted. Why don't you give it up?" 

"Never! I won't yield to the likes of you!," the frustrated teenager shouted. A black rage was welling up in him. No matter what he did, Slash always found a way to defeat his carefully planed tactics. And to make matters worse, his Mystic sword instructor laughed at his efforts as one does to a dog chasing it's own tail. 

"Sticks and stones, kid. Sticks and stones," Slash laughed cruelly. Even though Janus was eighteen and stood slightly taller than Slash, the infernal blue-skinned swordsman still called him "kid" which caused the youth no little irritation. "I guess I've toyed with you enough. Perhaps I'll just finish this game." Slash slowly waved Slasher from side to side, imitating a cat swinging it's tail before it pounces. 

Janus watched the blade carefully, waiting for a a wrong move, a hint of an attack. But when it came, it wasn't from Slash at all. A sharp kick caught him in the rear-end from behind. Janus went sprawling, his face hitting the sawdust that had been spread on the cobblestones of the courtyard to soften falls. His sword went flying. Choking on the grainy substance, Janus coughed and rolled onto his back, trying to breathe and sit up. The cold tip of a sword pricked him lightly where his heartbeat throbbed in his neck. Slash and Flea loomed over him, grinning mockingly. 

"Give up yet?," Slash asked, buffing his nails on his shirtfront. Janus assumed an arrogant smile. 

"Cut my throat if you will, but yield I will not," he whispered. Raising one hand, he ran a finger along the weapon's keen edge tauntingly, inviting them to do their worst. The grins on the two Mystic's faces slowly slid off, like water down a pane of glass. 

"Don't act so brave, Janus," Flea advised. Casually, she her placed her hand over her companion's and leaned a slight bit. A warm trickle and a razor's edge of pain slid down the former prince's neck, into the collar of his shirt. "Slash may have qualms about killing you, but I most certainly don't." 

_She's serious_, Janus realized. But how far could he push the insult? Lowering his hand, he shrugged slightly and looked away. "Like I said, kill me if you wish, it doesn't matter to me." He felt the weapon tremble slightly. Who's hand had shook, Flea's or Slash's? He couldn't be sure. Both wore identical masks of mocking coldness. 

"You brat! I'll finish what I should have finished years ago!," Flea growled. Janus clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

"Keep talking and you will! I'll be bored to death!," Janus shot back. "Or maybe you'll add another wrinkle to that sagging face of yours!" Flea went dead white with rage. A pink froth seemed to touch her bloodless lips. Janus swallowed hard. _I think I went overboard on that one..._

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to KILL HIM!!!!!," she howled. A smooth voice interposed, however, before she could take action. 

"You harm him, Flea, in anyway, I will visit it back on you twofold." Ozzie floated out of one of the many glass doors from the castle, arms crossed over his stomach, since he had no chest to speak of. Flea carefully reigned in her anger and bowed stiffly. 

"As you wish, Ozzie," she mumbled, glaring daggers at Janus who was still sprawled helpless on his back. Releasing her grip over Slash's hand, she stomped away, white cape trailing behind her, braid bouncing angrily on her shoulders. Slash stepped back, allowing Janus to roll to his feet. The teenager dusted himself off, wincing as his fingers brushed the small cut on his neck and came away stained with blood. He gave Slash a black look which was returned with a shrug. Ozzie floated up and stood between them. 

"How have your fencing lessons progressed?," the Mystic leader asked. Before Janus could open his mouth, Slash made a rude noise. 

"He fights like a girl, Ozzie! Look at this!" The swordsman poked the hard muscles that protruded slightly on Janus' arm. "Look at these biceps, wimpy as a noodle!" Slash ran his hands over the broad, straight line of Janus' shoulders. "A back like an old woman too." He stepped to the side and rammed a fist into the teenager's gut. The impact would have knocked the breath from a lesser man but Janus merely grunted slightly. Shaking his hand as if in pain, Slash grinned, "But it looks like the sit-ups paid off." 

"Good, good. And your magic lessons?" Ozzie prompted casually. Janus looked away briefly and when he locked gazes with the Mystic, there was no warmth to be seen in their lavender depths. Ozzie fought down the urge to shudder. 

"Flea isn't very competent at teaching, though I have learned quite a few things from her. The meanings of quite a few dirty words comes to mind," he said dryly, the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. Slash laughed nervously and put Slasher away into it's scabbard. "On my own I believe that I have managed to master not only the basic mental exercises used to help concentration, but I also have been working on learning some more higher level spells then the ones Flea gave me to study." 

"Good, good!," Ozzie chortled. "However, don't push your limits too far too fast, my boy. Dreadful things happen to a magician who loses control of his spells." Janus didn't even blink. 

"Ozzie, when have I ever lost control?" The words were spoken in such a flat, dead tone that a block of ice might have given off more heat. Ozzie cleared his throat and nodded. 

"Well, I'd hate to lose a bright pupil like you to spell shock or something. Just don't be so ambitious that you forget to watch your back," Slash interjected in the pause. His smile and friendly slap on the back were nervous and hesitant. Janus thought this was odd, and made a mental note to ask Ozzie about it later. 

Ozzie nodded again. "Anyway, I was just coming out here to inform you that I'm going to be holding a meeting of Mystics in half-an-hour." Ozzie grimaced, his three chins rolling downward into matching frowns. I would have sent a flunky but the louts are getting insolent and, excuse the human term, rather bitchy at me so I decided to save myself a headache and come myself." Mopping his brow with his sleeve, he added, "Now I wish I hadn't. The exertion is killing me! Slash, Janus, I expect to see you two there." 

Slash frowned. "What for? You know I usually snore through meetings. What's going to be the topic?" 

Ozzie rubbed his sweaty hands together. "Oh, I think you'll like the topic this time! Believe me, you won't be snoring!" With that cryptic message, Ozzie laughed and vanished. Slash said a bad word and crossed his arms. 

"I hate it when Ozzie plays these games! I want to know what the meeting is about!," he complained. Then his eyes lit up and a wicked smile crossed his face. Janus rolled his eyes and smiled sarcastically. 

"I seriously doubt it's naked dancing girls, Slash." Correctly interpreting where the Mystic's mind had gone, Janus groaned in disgust. "You are so single minded, Slash!," he remarked when said Mystic gave him a menacing look. "Can't you think of anything but..._that?!"_

Slash thought for a moment. "Well, I could, but life would be so dull then!" Laughing at Janus who rolled his eyes once more, the blue swordsman clapped him hard on the back. "Wait till you find a girl, kid. You'll look all over for her and just when you're about to give up hope, BAM! You run into her and you know that for one brief instant you've tasted true happiness. Then you'll understand what I'm feeling." So saying, Slash walked out of the makeshift arena, whistling. Janus shaded his eyes and looked up at the hazy gray and yellow sun, obscured through the misty clouds that were almost always in the sky. 

"Sorry, Slash. I don't understand what you're feeling." Janus answered to the now empty courtyard. "But I will say one thing, though..." Touching the amulet that hung around his neck, hidden under his shirt, he traced the crest of Zeal with his thumb through the material. "There is only one girl that I'll be spending my time looking for." 

. 

_Meanwhile, in another part of the world..._

"Leene! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" 

The lovely young woman pushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear and looked up at the approaching figure. She smiled in surprise and held out her arms to him from her position on the grassy hill that overlooked the ocean. The young man knelt swiftly beside her and she embraced him warmly, giving his cheek a tender kiss. 

"Claudane! When did you get back?," Leene gasped in pleasure. "I've missed you so much!" She hugged him tighter and then drew back, taking his face in her hands. "Oh, you haven't changed since I last saw you. The same messy hair and the same sparkling brown eyes." 

"Hey! I brushed my hair this morning!," Dane answered with a playful smile and a soft punch to her arm. "We were allowed a few days break from training and I decided to take my leave back here with you and..." His face grew somber then. "And father. How is father, Leene? Any change?" Leene smiled sadly at her brother. 

"He hasn't been the same since the accident." 

"Don't I know it." 

Leene reached out a hand and brushed another strand of hair behind her ears. "Let's not talk about father right now. You're home and I want to be happy." Claudane smiled and nodded. "So, what was the castle like? Is it truly as big as the rumors say it is?" 

Her brother shrugged. "I suppose so. It looks much the same as any castle is said to look like. It's big with gray stone walls on the outside and lush, rich tapestries on the inside. The knight's barracks aren't too shabby either." 

"What is it like? Being one of the Knights of the Square Table, I mean?" 

"Oh, I'm not a knight yet. I'm still a trainee. It will take several more months of work to even be allowed to fight in a battle." 

"Then what do you do all day? Sit around and polish your armor?," Leene giggled. Dane looked offended. 

"Of course not! It's not easy being in the military. Up at dawn to train in the sparring ring, a cold soggy egg and burnt toast for breakfast. Field training in dew-wet grass until it dries at noon. Sliced ham and a crust of bread with naught but water to wash it down with is a soldier's lunch." 

Leene shook her head. "That sounds harsh!" 

"It is, but I suppose it's worth it. If I want to advance up to a better paying rank, then I have to work my hardest. It's really not so bad. The chance to work near the king is very exciting." 

The girl clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, tell me Dane! Did you see the king?" 

"I did. I even talked with him a little bit." 

"Really? What was he like? Is he tall and handsome like in the fairy tales?" 

Claudane shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not a very good judge of male beauty you understand," he began with a blush and a clearing of his throat. "I suppose a girl might go for him." 

"He's ugly then?" 

"No!," Dane replied hastily. "No, he's just, um, well you know." 

"I'm sorry, Dane, but I don't know. I've never seen him before, remember?" 

Leene's brother squared his shoulders and blurted out, "Okay, okay! His Majesty is all right in looks I guess but he's not what one would call dashing. He's not really strong nor very tactful or brilliant. He's got no backbone." 

"So, he's a wimp then, is that what you're trying to tell me?" 

Dane winced. "You make it sound so harsh, Leene! Remember that we are talking about the ruling monarch of Guardia, here." His sister shrugged. "So what have you been doing all this time I've been gone?" 

"Oh, not much. Just keeping house and weeding the garden. That's about all I do these days." 

"What about that Margaret girl you used to hang around with?" 

"What about her?" 

"Don't you two talk anymore? I used to have the biggest crush on her last year." 

Leene chuckled ruefully. "Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Dane, but Margaret got married to William Shire a couple months ago." 

"She did? Wow! I have been gone a long time, haven't I? Last time I heard, he'd stolen her bonnet and she pushed him in the mud, swearing she'd hate him forever." 

The siblings laughed over the memory. "Yes! William called her an old nag and Margaret was so upset that she stomped all the way home." Leene put her hand to her side where she'd gotten a stitch. "Well, what happened was that Margaret's little sister Molly caught the measles and father, well, he was out of commission and out of tonics. But William went off in search for some and he found it. It was lucky he'd acted so noble because the tonic saved the little girl's life. Margaret was so grateful that when William blurted out that he'd always had a crush on her, they got married that very same week." 

"And all he had to do was save her sister." Dane shook his head with mock sorrow. "Courting a girl sure has gotten harder. Why can't we just go back to chocolates and bouquets of roses?" Leene gave a fake pout and slapped her brother's arm. 

"Oh, you're no fun!," she complained, trying not to smile and failing miserably. "It looks like you've had enough to keep you occupied. I certainly envy you, my dear brother." 

Pulling a dandelion puff out of the grass, Leene blew the fluffy white seeds off of the stem and they flew away on the wind. _I wish I could be a dandelion puff_, Leene thought to herself. _You'd never catch me sitting still. I'd fly away on the breeze to see the world and find my destiny, not rooted to the place I grew up._ But she was rooted, she admitted to herself, tossing the stem away from her. Rooted by her ailing father, by the laws that bound her to him till he was either dead or she was married, and by the simple fact that she was a woman. One of the biggest unspoken rules of the times was that single women did not go off traveling without an escort of other women, especially if traveling with armored guards. And once she was married, that would be the end of everything. She'd be at her husband's beck and call. No matter how much she might love him, Leene knew that she'd never be able to tolerate being inferior to anyone. She'd have to be a man's equal, a person worthy of respect from anyone and everyone. 

She felt Dane's hand on her shoulder. "Hey. You still with me, Leene?" 

"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, I'm with you." But even as she said this, she looked over the ocean to see the hazy outline of the main continent and her eyes grew distant. _Some day I'll be free_, she said in her mind. _Some day..._

. 

The throne room in Ozzie's fortress was hot and stuffy from the press of Mystic bodies in too small a space. Janus was glad he was already sitting down because the heat and the unpleasant smell of sweaty fur, scales, and slimy skin made him dizzy and sick to his stomach. The chair he sat in was made of collapsible metal and was very uncomfortable. His rear-end was practically asleep as well as his feet. To his right, Slash sat trying to flirt with an unresponsive Flea who stared straight ahead at the podium that had been erected for Ozzie's use. 

Janus shifted in his chair and massaged one of his feet back to life. As the blood resumed circulation, it tingled and itched annoyingly. "Why can't Ozzie hurry his lard up and get here?," the youth mumbled under his breath. Almost as if that was a cue, Ozzie appeared in a brilliant display of pyrotechnics that almost set his robes on fire. Once the laughter had stopped and the fat green Mystic had doused the smoldering hem of his attire, the assembled group slowly grumbled into silence. 

Ozzie began, his voice low at first. "My loyal subjects! Today I have gathered you here to discuss a decision I have made recently, one that will effect not only us here at the fort but all over Guardia Kingdom as well." Ozzie raised a fist and shook it. "This act that we will undertake shortly will change history. No longer shall we be subject to the whims and the prejudice of the human race. No longer shall we be forced to hide our powers or cower in the thought of a mob stripping the flesh from our bones. After today, a grand scheme will have been set in motion, one that will undoubtedly bring us glory and supreme dominion over the world as we know it!" 

"And exactly what do you propose, O Great Ozzie?" 

"Yes! Tell us!" 

"What are you trying to say?" 

Anonymous voices shouted out questions of this sort from all over the room until the whole gathering was ablaze, demanding what it was that their leader was talking about. Ozzie raised his hands for silence. The crowd subsided into quiet once more. 

"I wonder what he's talking about," Slash muttered out the corner of his mouth to Janus who shrugged. He could care less. Mystic glory really didn't intrust him any. He gave a shrug and shifted to a more comfortable position so that his long legs weren't so cramped. 

Ozzie leaned forward dramatically. "I am speaking of none other than the event you've all been waiting for." 

"Would that be the point to this whole meeting?," Janus called out, boredom making him daring. There were random snickers around him but he merely yawned. Had he been anyone else, he would have received a blistering retort, but Ozzie laughed instead. 

"The 'point' to this meeting is very simple, my friends. I am speaking of none other...than WAR!" Everyone gasped. "Yes! I said war! War with the humans. War to free our race from the eternal bonds of the hatred of our kind." 

Slash grabbed Flea's arm and squeezed it joyfully. "Baby! This is what we've been waiting for! Isn't this so great?!" Flea nodded slightly. 

"Yeah, great," was her reply. The blue swordsman gave her an odd look. She seemed preoccupied with something. He wondered what the demented little gears turning under that long braid were calculating. 

"I plan to be sending a heavy hit-and-run attack against Truce to let the weakling humans know that we mean business. I need volunteers to join the command team. Do I have any nominees?," the fat green Mystic leader continued. Slash and Flea raised their hands simultaneously. 

"I appreciate the gesture, you two, but I can't have you both go running off. I need someone to stay here with me in case things go wrong. One of you will have to stay," their leader stated. Slash looked at Flea who shrugged. With a long-suffering sigh, Slash lowered his hand. 

"I hope that you will remember my sacrifice for the cause, Ozzie," he growled menacingly. The fat Mystic gave a sympathetic shrug. 

"Will there be anyone else who wants to earn a place in Mystic history? Who wants to prove that they're worthy to be called a Mystic?" 

Flea cleared her throat. "Lord Ozzie, I nominate Janus to be my second in command on this mission." All noise in the room went dead still. Everyone, including Janus gaped at her in shock. The magician's face was calm and almost serene looking. 

"As...as you wish, Flea," Ozzie managed to mumble. To Janus he said, "Here's your first mission, my boy. I hope you'll make me proud." Janus could only manage to nod dumbly. He was going into battle. Real battle! Looking up at his new commander, Janus noticed a glint of steel in her eyes. A cold feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. This hadn't been a spur of the moment thing, as he had thought. Flea knew what she was doing. She knew he was untried in battle, untested in his fighting and magical ability, and yet she wanted him to go on a dangerous scouting mission. Deep inside, the young man knew why. Flea wanted him dead. No question about it. If she couldn't do the deed herself, then she'd depend upon a human's sword to cut his life short. 

Amidst the cheering as Ozzie laid out the plan, Janus managed to force his way out of the room and into the courtyard. His insides churned with apprehension. A shivery feeling ran up his spine as the Black Wind whispered across his consciousness. He hadn't felt it's loathsome touch since childhood. Why was it coming back to him now? What doom was being predicted? 

"Nervous, Janus?" 

The youth looked around and finally spotted Flea lounging in the doorway. She had an evil expression on her face. Janus swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around himself. One hand rested on her hip, the other clenched into a tight fist. Forcing a look of arrogance, the would-be magician shook his head. The enchantress laugh silkily and meandered up to him. 

"You're not so brave. Under that mask is a frightened little boy, isn't there? You're no man, not yet! Not till you've felt the pleasure of a kill!" The way she said the words reminded the former prince of a cat purring while toying with her victim. "I have a gift for you." Opening her gloved hand, Flea held up a large gold coin. Turning it around between her fingers, Janus could see a picture of a flaming sword on one side and a skull on the other: victory and death. 

"What's this for?" 

Flea smiled. "Let's just say it's my little coming of age present from one friend to another." Tossing the coin into the air, it spun faster and faster until it became a golden light. Grabbing it suddenly, the magician placed the metal piece into Janus' hand. Half expecting it to be hot, he almost dropped the coin. However, the metal was cool to the touch and no harm befell him. He was about to open his hand but Flea shook her head. "Heads, I win. Tails, you lose Janus." She leaned close to him, so close that all he could see of her face were her eyes. "Be scared, Janus. Be very, very scared." In a flash of light, she was gone. 

Opening his hand slowly, the youth swayed slightly. Turning the coin over and over in his hand, the same picture met his lavender gaze: DEATH. It was the same leering skull on both sides. Clenching his fist tightly around the accursed coin, Janus closed his eyes and cursed softly. It's times like this that a friend would have been comforting. But as usual, no one heard his despairing sighs but himself. 


	13. Darkness Before the Storm

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 12**

**Darkness Before The Storm**

By ZealPropht 

The day dawned much the same way it always did in Guardia Kingdom. The sun lazily crept on tiptoes up the horizon, hesitantly shedding it's first tentative rays of light along the dew-dusted grass, letting tickling fingers seep into the hen house where the rooster slumbered. The light prompted the bird to awake with a start. Had he forgotten his daily chore to wake the farmer? Scrambling from the warm roost, he fluttered to a rooftop and looked about, squinting at the sun in dismay. _Hush_, the sun seemed to whisper on the soft morning breeze, still tinged with the damp smells of the night. _You are not late. I have only just arrived! Will you not welcome me to your home?_ And so, the rooster opened his beak and issued forth a glad cry to the world, greeting the sun on it's merry way into the sky. With that triumphant note winging it's way through the air, the glorious orb of light burst it's full illumination upon the Kingdom in absolute brilliance. 

Suddenly, it seemed as if everything sprang to life. Birds began to whistle and chirp, cats slunk home from catching mice all night. Owls flew sleepily back to their daytime homes in the hollow trees dotting the countryside. Sleepy peasants crawled from their beds to milk the cows and feed the hens while collecting eggs. Mothers stirred up hot porridge as their yawning, eye-rubbing children stumbled out to the kitchen table with dream contented smiles, driven from their beds as the mouthwatering smell wafted to their nostrils. 

Everything seemed right with the world. No one in the Kingdom thought that this peaceful morning would be the last any of them would see for a very long time.... 

. 

King Ruttelard Guardia lifted his heavy eyelids and stretched luxuriously in his bed. He smoothed the silk and velvet coverlet over him more securely and snuggled deeper against his fluffy goose-down pillows. His valet would show up in a moment with his royal choice of wardrobe for the day. Then all hell would break loose. People would come waltzing in with his bed tray and pull open the curtains to blind him with early morning sunshine. The staff had an uncanny way of knowing what time he was going to wake up. 

As if on cue, a knock resounded at the door. "Go away!," the king shouted, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillows. A second knock, more demanding then the first, banged on the heavy oak door. "I said, go away! Can't a person get any sleep around here?!" 

The door opened. Ruttelard sat up so fast, he got dizzy. Who dared to ignore a royal command?! Cutting words died in his mouth as the skinny, short Lord High Chancellor walked in. "You are hardly a normal person, Majesty, and as such, the day begins much sooner then you'd like." 

"My Lord Chancellor, what can I do for you?," the King stumbled. This man always reminded him of some feverish weasel. He didn't really care for the old codger, but the man was powerful. He'd served the old king faithfully...or at least no one could prove otherwise. 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there _is_ something." Coming up to the edge of the bed, the scrawny old man deposited an armload of documents into the monarch's lap. "These all need your signature before I can commence an update on the royal accounts. It's imperative that they be filled out so we can pay the staff this week." He produced a quill pen and a jar of ink out of nowhere and held them out to Ruttelard. 

"But, but-" The king stammered. "I haven't even had breakfast yet!" 

"Time and money waits for no man, be he king or peasant, sire!," The chancellor reprimanded him. "Your late father would never let a minor thing like a missed meal to interfere with matters of state!" Ruttelard brushed aside the quill and ink irritably. 

"I am not my father, need I remind you? I am the king now and I should be allowed to do things whenst and how I choose to do them!," he snapped, slipping out of the other side of the bed and throwing on a robe. Moving to the heavy velvet drapes, he yanked rather savagely on the golden cord and they slid open, splashing orange sunlight on the floor. The king blinked painfully as the first rays hit his eyes, but after blinking a bit, he was fine. 

His eyes wandered to the heavy golden crown resting on a blue satin pillow that sat to the right out of the sun's light, the many gems encrusted on the surface shining even in the dimness of a shadow. The gold itself looked dull, as if it were only gold painted lead, with the black substance beneath leaking through. It made Ruttelard think about just how "loyal" his Chancellor really was to the throne. Beneath the polished exterior, was there a pulsing core of corruption with parts beginning to leak through the facade? 

"Forgive me, your Majesty," the Chancellor groveled with a low bow. "I did not mean to give offense. Please, sign these papers when ever you wish." The King raised an eyebrow at this sudden change in tone. The old man sighed and gathered up the scrolls in his arms. "I'll just have to tell the staff that they will have to wait for their money until when and if you decide to get these done." The whole act was just too much for Ruttelard to deal with. 

Heaving a sigh of his own, he called, "Lord Chancellor, wait, please. I will sign the papers now." The old man had almost made it to the door, dragging his feet, his face a mask of abject misery. 

"No, your Majesty. I don't want to pressure you into doing something you don't want to do right now. I'll just toddle off and crunch some more numbers..." 

"Either you bring those papers to me right this instant or I will not sign them at all!," King Ruttelard gritted through clenched teeth, his eyes rolled skywards as he counted to ten. It was surprising how fast the Chancellor's attitude changed. He almost sprinted to the King's side, the earlier attitude of humility and contriteness vanishing like water on a hot skillet. 

"Certainly, sire. Whatever you say," the old man replied, eagerly thrusting the pen and ink into his monarch's hands. Ruttelard quickly signed the papers, not really bothering to read them over. He never could stand all the legal banter his Chancellor had to put up with. As he handed the scrolls back, he reflected that it was for that precise reason he had someone to work the numbers for him. 

"There, now leave me." The king purposefully turned his back on the Lord High Chancellor. As he stared out the window over the courtyard below, he never saw the look of sneering disdain that crossed the old man's features. 

"Of course, sire. I live to serve you." Holding the parchments close to him, he scooped up the ink and pen and quietly left the room. Ruttelard couldn't hide a smile as the Chancellor was very nearly run over by the valet and the rest of his personal retainers, bearing his breakfast and wardrobe. Giving one last look out the window, the King of Guardia turned to face another day or ruling. 

. 

_Why am I here?_, Janus asked himself for the hundredth time that morning. _I'm not a warrior and I have no interest in furthering the Mystic's cause. All I want is enough power to leave this place and return to Schala_. Left, right. Left, right. His feet kept up the steady march like the rest of the army. Of course, he knew why he was there. It was all Flea's doing. She wanted him dead and would go through any lengths to see it happen. Left, right. Left, right. 

To relieve the monotony of the long, covert trek to Truce, he pondered the preparations that had been taken care of to ensure a good easy win. Magic power would be supplied by Flea and her Sorcerers, while the brute strength would be carried out by large troops of Henchs Roly Bombers ensured manual firepower and could be tossed like grenades. Outlaws made terrific archers and Grimalkins had some excellent karate-like kicks. With the type of manpower available, it looked very probable that the humans wouldn't stand a chance. However, Janus had learned long ago not to underestimate your opponent. He was sure that the Knights of Guardia wouldn't take this little raid lying down. 

"Thinking about the battle to come?," asked a smooth, oily voice at his elbow. Janus looked down and saw a figure he hadn't seen before. "I don't blame you. Flea holds grudges, even if she doesn't have the brains or the guts to carry out her own vengeance. She's nasty that way." 

"And who are you?," Janus inquired. The person bowed dramatically and smoothed his black uniform. Winking with a bright, black eye, the spy chuckled. 

"I am called GrabbleDrek. I was sent by Ozzie to keep an eye on you, Janus." 

"Oh? Why?" 

Drek shrugged. "Why not?" 

"Forgive me for sounding rude, but I have never put much trust into the good intentions of others. What is it you're really here for?," Janus replied in icy tones. Drek clacked his beak once, but whether it was from irritation, displeasure, humor, or simply a bird-thing, Janus couldn't tell. 

"If you really want to know, it's because Ozzie sent me to give you a gift." 

Janus smiled bitterly. "Thanks, but no thanks. I seem to be getting allot of so-called 'gifts' lately." His eyes moved to Flea who had assumed position at the head of the long column of troops. She hovered off the ground in Slash-like fashion and shouted orders to a couple more reliable Imps who's sole purpose was to run up and down the lines, reporting these commands to the section leaders. His fingers strayed to the coin Flea had given to him and which he'd secreted in a pocket over his heart. It's presence was a constant reminder of how much he hated her for setting him up like this. 

GrabbleDrek wasn't so easily put off, however. "I think you'll find this gift to be more useful then anything else you may have received." Janus turned to issue a scathing retort but his mouth fell open in wonder instead. Drek had pulled a length of cloth from his travel pack. It was a brilliant shade of purple that changed color as the light hit it. Currently, it was almost a maroon color but as Drek handed it over, it changed to a silky lavender hue. 

"What is it?," Janus breathed. Drek shrugged. 

"Since we Mystics have a hard time finding clothes that compliment our skin tones or body shapes, we generally stick to darker shades and large, voluminous outfits. Of course, some of us," he looked at Flea and her clothing, "simply have no taste." He nodded to the cloth in the youth's hands. "This type of material is magically accented to match whatever you are wearing." He watched as Janus turn it over and over in his hands, admiring the way it flashed and shimmered. "Incidentally, it's a cloak," Drek commented dryly. 

Janus felt his cheeks grow flushed as he realized he hadn't even noticed what it was. Twirling it over his head with a flourish, he tossed it over his shoulders and fastened the gold clip. The cloak was lightweight and didn't hinder his movement any. It was cool despite the morning sun beating down on his head and shoulders. Reaching behind his head, he noticed it was even hooded! Twining his long blue hair into a manageable clump, he held it in place with one hand while drawing the hood up with the other. Once he was certain his hair was concealed, he let go of it. Orange tassels were the only decoration on the cloak along with orange silk ribbing along the edge of the hood. Janus didn't need a mirror to know how sinister and mysterious he must look. 

"It's reversible too, by the way. In case you need to make a quick change of clothes, the other side is a different color and will blend to match your new clothes as well. Also, it has nifty little pockets sewn into it for concealed weapons or healing potions," Drek supplied helpfully. Janus flashed him a grin from the shadows that flitted over his face. 

"This looks wickedly stunning on me! Ozzie has good taste." 

"Hey, don't thank me or anything. I only delivered it," Drek hinted sarcastically. But if he had thought to make Janus feel guilty in any way, he was playing to the wrong audience. 

"Don't worry, I won't." With that, he turned his back on the spy and walked away. GrabbleDrek ground his teeth at this human's arrogance but didn't follow. He'd just have to be content to watch from the sidelines. As Janus approached the head of the line, he could see the outskirts of Truce coming into view. For a brief second, it brought a painful lump to his throat as he remembered a time, not so long ago, when a lost and frightened little boy had stumbled into that village. It felt like ages ago! He had changed so much. 

The army paused on a grassy knoll that overlooked the peaceful town. Janus meandered his way through the grumbling troops to where Flea stood conversing with the section leaders. "Brock, take your team and attack the west side," she commanded. Brock, a Hench with long yellowed tusks hanging out of his mouth, saluted and shuffled off, bellowing for his company to get into formation. "Yattler, I want your bowmen to cut off any attempts to bring in reinforcements from the castle. I don't want any knights to start showing up before we've had a chance to do some major damage." The Outlaw, Yattler, cackled and saluted. 

"I hear and obey, O Oneness!," he croaked. Flea made a grand gesture and he scrambled off in such haste that he very nearly tumbled down the hill. Flea rolled her eyes and turned to the last section leader, a repulsive Grimalkin by the name of FrazzelC'ur. 

"Frazzel, take your team and work from the east. The last thing we need is the pesky humans to run up into the mountains. If they get holed up there, it could take us days to smoke them out." 

"Gotcha, daddy-o! I'm there! Them humans ain't goin' nowhere! They can try to run, they can try to hide. But ain't none of them gonna come out alive!," he chanted in a gravely bass voice. Flea rubbed her hands together in malicious glee as he wandered off to rejoin his group. 

"Excellent!," she chortled. "Finally! Some good, old-fashioned action! Won't Slash be jealous when he hears how well I pulled this one off?" Catching sight of Janus, her smile faded into a disgusted scowl. "What are you trying to be? A refugee from a runaway carnival?" The magician circled him, occasionally poking at a tassel to see the way it sparkled in the light. Finally, she stopped in front of him and crossed her arms. "Are you trying to help the knights with their target practice or do you just have no concept of what the word inconspicuous means?" The youth ignored her remark and pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket. 

"Well, O Oneness," Janus replied, mocking Yattler's tone, "what's the plan?" 

"If you hadn't noticed, air-head, we're going to attack Truce with as much force as we can as fast as we can before they realize what hit them. Then, we pull out." 

"Why not stay to tangle with the knights a bit, even up the odds, know what I mean?," Janus asked, pulling the supple leather gauntlets on and adjusting them. Flea raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Are you that eager to die? Or are you simply very stupid?" 

"I just want to know when you plan to end this charade, Flea. I'm tired of stepping lightly around you. One way or another, we'll duke this out here, today." 

Flea chuckled darkly and slipped an arm around his waist. "I'll enjoy watching you die, Janus. I've been waiting for this a long time." He looked down into her face which was flushed prettily with an alluring blush, but contrasted oddly with the coldness of her eyes. Smiling, he wrapped a hand around her braid and yanked it, hard. Gasping, the magician stumbled back massaging her stinging scalp. "You bastard!," she spat. "You'll regret that action! I'm going to see you suffer as never before!" 

"I have no doubt that you'll try," was all the response she received. 

"All right, enough chatter!," the magician growled savagely, turning her back on Janus. Stomping into the center of the largest cluster of Mystics, she raised her voice to encompass the entire army. "Get into your attack groups. We march on Truce!" 

. 

"Of all the arrogant, insolent pups! Who does he think he is?" Darwin Rath, Lord High Chancellor of Guardia, fumed at his desk, scribbling numbers onto papers and tossing them onto the ever increasing stack. Sitting to his left behind a slightly smaller desk was his assistant, Daryl Krantz. 

"I guess he thinks he's the King, huh, Gramps?", Daryl laughed, dipping his pen into a fresh jar of ink. Darwin glared at his grandson who only laughed harder, threatening to drip ink onto the ledger he was working on. 

"Blot that pen, you fool, before you mess up the figures!," he snapped. Daryl did as he was told and continued writing and laughing. "When I promised your mother I would take you under my wing and teach you the trade, I didn't think I'd be getting a snippety little upstart. You'd better watch your mouth and your place, Daryl, or you'll find yourself back behind a plow." 

The threat sobered the young scholar up quickly. Darwin nodded once curtly and added the last few numbers to the paper in front of him. "Um, Grandpa?" 

"What now?" 

"You, uh, you really wouldn't send me back home...would you?" 

The Chancellor let his grandson sweat for a few minutes before replying, "We'll see." Daryl looked visibly relieved and attacked the ledger with much more fervor. Darwin hid a covert smile. Back in his youth, when he'd been hot-blooded and reckless, he'd had a bit of an infidelity with one of the castle maids and she'd given him a daughter. The news very nearly became a scandal. However, he'd managed to pay the maid off and had been paying through the nose ever since. When she'd finally died, he had thought that the secret was dead forever. But as fate would have it, his daughter Lucinda, had married a farmer and had a son, Daryl. Knowing that there was money and power in her background, she sought out the Chancellor and demanded he train Daryl as his sucessor...or else she'd tell the world about his dirty little indiscretion. Not having any other options, he had agreed. In public, Daryl was known as his humble assistant. In private, Daryl drove him up the wall. 

"Done with this account," the man in question sighed happily, leaning over and setting it on the edge of his grandfather's desk. "What do you want me to work on now?" Not looking up from his numbers, Darwin waved at a stack of parchment by the door. 

"Those are the latest staff ledgers over there, just recently signed by the King." The Chancellor spoke the title mockingly. "Start on those and we might be able to break early for lunch today." The two men, one young, one old, locked eyes and grinned. An "early lunch" was their term for a nice slice of the profits coming out of the royal treasury. They would usually celebrate by going down to the kitchen and ordering a sumptuous feast. Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet trembled. 

"What was that?," Daryl asked curiously. Darwin shrugged. 

"The cook probably exploded another meal in the kitchen," he chuckled dryly. Another series of tremors made a large splash of ink to spill onto the parchment Darwin was just finishing up. Muttering some strong curses, the old man grabbed a blotter and tried to soak up as much of the spilled ink as he could. "What is going on around here?! Heads will roll for this!," he shouted. Daryl was just picking up the stack of papers and turning to come back to his desk when the door flew open, smacking him in the face. 

"My nose!," he howled, dropping the papers to clutch at his throbbing sniffer. Darwin was on his feet in a rage. 

"You _idiot_!," he shrieked. "It took me four hours to categorize those papers and get them into alphabetical order!" Daryl squeezed out from behind the door and staggered over to his grandfather. They both glared daggers at the perpetrator. It was a raggedly panting soldier, his armor bloodstained and dented. He saluted weakly and used the door-frame to support himself. "Just what is the meaning of this?!," the Chancellor demanded. 

"It's the Mystics, sir! Truce is under attack!" 

"WHAT?!," the two bean-counters gasped simultaneously. 

"Do you mind if I sit down?," the knight asked, staggering towards a chair with papers on it. "I'm not feeling too well..." Darwin was there in a second, throwing himself bodily over the documents. 

"Bleed all over my precious scrolls and I'll finish you myself! How dare you even suggest such a thing!," he snarled. "No, you can go sit over there on the floor in the corner like a normal human being where you'll be out of everyone's way." 

"Truce? Under attack?!," Daryl mumbled from behind his hand that still held his nose. "Mother and father...." He leapt at his grandfather and grabbed the front of his robes of office. "We have to do something! They may not be much, but they are all I have!" 

"I'm sure they are all right!," Darwin snapped, slapping Daryl's hands till he let go. He rearranged his clothes and smacked Daryl on the arm. "Stop whimpering, you feeble-minded donkey! I'm sure they are in better condition then we are right now!" To the soldier he demanded, "Why are you running to me? Why didn't you inform the Knight Captain?" 

"I did," the weakened man groaned as he slumped against the wall, giving the Chancellor an icy look for denying him a chair. "He sent me to tell you to inform King Guardia of the situation and to remind you that our paychecks are coming up. Since defending against surprise raids aren't dictated in our contracts as Knights of the Square Table, we demand ten extra pieces of gold in our salary this time around." 

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!," Darwin raged. 

"I guess we must be, if we have to defend the Kingdom and put our lives on the line for as small a wage as you dish out to us!," the knight shot back, forgetting his wounds in an instant of anger. But when it had passed, he moaned and shut his eyes in pain. 

"Daryl, take this man down to the infirmary before he dies on us," Darwin commanded. 

"But he's all dirty and sweaty, Chancellor Rath! He'll get blood and grime all over me! Why do I have to touch him?," Daryl whined, easily slipping into the role of the humble apprentice. 

"Tell me again why I don't send you back to the farm, Daryl," Darwin grated, giving his grandson a murderous look. When the young man started the lip tremble, he shouted, "JUST DO IT!" Muttering about the ill-treatment, he did as he was told, hooking his arms under the wounded knight and supporting him .As they passed by him and out the door, he added, "And get some ice for your nose too because I'm not giving you the day off for headaches!" 

Daryl went off in one direction and his grandfather went in the other to inform the king. "How bad is it out there?," the scholar inquired, helping the limping man down the stairs. 

"Bad," was the reply. "The attack came as a sudden shock, we never even had time to prepare..." His words broke off as he drew in his breath sharply from pain. Daryl could feel the man's body tremble through the armor. 

"You aren't going to die on me are you?," he asked in horror. "I've never seen someone die before. I don't think I want to either." 

"Well, your boss didn't seem to want to ensure my continued good health," the knight grumbled. Daryl forced a nervous laugh. 

"Oh, uh, Chancellor Rath can seem harsh at times but he was just frazzled. It's not very often that someone dripping blood everywhere comes in spouting tales of war." 

"You didn't seem too impressed by my current state either," the man replied pointedly. Daryl laughed again and it trailed off into uncomfortable silence. 

"Um, about the attack, though...," he said at last. 

"It's a long story, son. Let me tell you what I remember as we walk." 

"What you remember?," Daryl repeated, puzzled. 

"Yeah. See, I live on the outskirts of the town so my house was one of the first that got hit." 

"I thought all the knights lived in the castle," Daryl interrupted. The knight gripped the young man's shoulder hard for a second, the metal gauntlet he wore bruising the flesh beneath the expensive robes, as a wave of dizziness washed over him. "Ouch! Ease up!," he complained. The grip of iron loosened slightly. 

"If you think that about us knights, you're sadly mistaken. Only the rookies live here. Most of us have homes and families. Such is the case with me. I have a wife and a four year-old daughter at home who were nearly killed this morning." 

"The attack...," Daryl prompted. 

"I was barely out of bed, drinking my morning cup of coffee when out of the blue the roof of our house was blown up. Boom! Just like that. One second it was there, the next, were half buried under so much kindling." 

"Wow! What happened then?" 

"Well, after I regained my wits and made sure the wife and my daughter were safe I grabbed up my armor and my sword and went charging into the fray. There were hundreds of them, and I'm not lying! I have never seen so many Mystics in my whole life!" Here the knight shuddered. "And I hope I never have to again." When Daryl nodded sympathetically, the man shook his head. "It wasn't just the size of their army that scares the heck out of me. They had this guy, a really creepy looking person. He must have been some sort of leader because everyone gave him lots of room." 

"What did this Mystic leader look like? Was it the reputable swordsman Slash?" 

The man gave Daryl a sour look. "I'm no green recruit here, kid. I've seen Slash fight before and this wasn't him at all. This guy couldn't hold pins against any of our boys in a really sticky sword to sword battle. But he threw around some mean magic, I can tell you that." 

They arrived at the infirmary which was nothing more then a few beds lined up along the walls, taking up part of the Knight's Council, a large vaulted room under the castle where the knights would come to discuss battle plans and initiate new members and so forth. Rich tapestries depicting fights both historical and fantastical lined the stone walls. A fire sputtered in the hearth constantly because it tended to get rather cold underground and it wasn't good for patients. Daryl helped the wounded knight towards the reception desk where a bored looking blond nurse sat twiddling with medical charts. When she saw them coming to her, however, she burst into life. 

"Goodness gracious! What hast transpired here? Do mine eyes deceive me or be'est there a war raging above us?," she asked. Daryl rolled his eyes but refrained from commenting that is was obvious that there WAS a war going on above. He thought better of it at the last minute because not only was the nurse rather pretty, she might seriously not have known anything was wrong. 

"Yes, there is a battle happening near Truce Village. But don't worry. I told the Knight Captain and he should be calling our forces together to launch a counterattack," the hurt man replied, groaning. The nurse motioned for them to come to one of the beds. Daryl helped the knight down onto the bed and backed away so she could do her job. Grimacing in disgust at the blood and dirt all over his clothes, Daryl fished around the medical supplies till he found a container bearing ice. He filled up a small, thin leather pouch designed for that very purpose, and placed it on his nose. He paused for a second to look at his reflection in a medicine tray and blinked. His eyes were getting puffy and turning black and a nasty yellowish color. His nose was extremely tender and his head was aching. 

"That...that...!," Daryl sputtered, looking away from his reflection. The stupid guard most likely broke his nose with that stupid door! If there was a major weak spot for Daryl, it was his vanity. He saw himself as a gift to womankind and one thing that would ruin his looks completely would be to have a crooked nose. 

. 

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!," Chancellor Rath called, speeding into the throne room as if his tail were on fire. King Ruttelard Guardia looked up and frowned. 

"Yes, Lord Chancellor?" 

"Mystics! They're...attacking...Mystics! We must send...the ...soldiers...!," the old man gasped. He was surprised when the monarch made a dismissive gesture. 

"I've known that for some time," he replied. Darwin gaped. Then he saw the Knight Captain, resplendent in his golden armor, trying to hide a smug grin and not succeeding very well. "You are a bit late with the news. We were just deciding what to do when you came howling in here." 

"Bu-but..." 

"You heard the Chancellor, sir knight. Send the soldiers to try and quell this menace before putting our good troops out on the field," Ruttelard stated. The grin left the knight's face. 

"My liege, I must advise against this. T'would be in our best interest to send the Knights of the Square table to vanquish the foes quickly. The longer we tarry, the longer the Mystic's have to kill our innocent people," the man pressed. 

"But think of the cost!," Darwin wheedled. "We can afford to pay for more soldiers. Good knights are hard to come by, sire!" 

"My Lord Rath, I am shocked to my core! This is not an issue of money but an issue of public safety! Can you set a price on the lives of the people you would be sending out there to die?," the golden knight snarled. Rath stood to his full height, which wasn't very much, and nodded curtly. 

"Yes, I believe I can! Do YOU want a pay cut?!" 

"Gentleman, please! Enough arguing. I hereby decree that the soldiers will be sent first and the knights afterward. Now, clear the court, I shall be awaiting news on the fighting in my private chambers," Ruttelard snapped. He ignored the smug expression he saw Darwin flash the Knight Captain and stepped down from the throne, walking out of the room via a small corridor, closely followed by his retinue of guards. He hated having to agree with the Chancellor, but he didn't have much of a choice. If he had sides with the Knight Captain, Rath would have sulked and made sure that the knights regretted the insult by docking their pay. Sighing, he took off the heavy gold crown with it's dull gold and tossed it onto a chair. It was times like this he wished he had a soft, comforting hand to rub his forehead and to help him relax, some gentle caring woman who could help him with these tough choices. Flopping down on a divan, he closed his eyes and thought about the dream girl he knew was out there, somewhere, waiting for him. 

. 

The message had arrived early that morning. Leene read it and reread it over and over to herself as she wept and held her brother's picture to her heart. He had been called back into duty early because of this sudden attack on Truce. She had begged and pleaded for him not to go but to no avail. Claudane was too proud and loyal to the crown to ignore a royal summons. A tear splattered on the glass covering the picture. Leene looked out the window at the sun in a suddenly darkening sky and whispered, "Take care, my brother...." 


	14. MAGUS! Part 1

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 13**

**MAGUS! Part 1**

By ZealPropht 

Janus went through the next series of motions before shouting, "Fireball!" Another knight went down in a blazing heap. The combination of fear, exhilaration, and weariness from all the spell-casting was beginning to catch up to him. Stumbling out of the main portion of the battle, he found a relatively quiet spot where he could view the bloodied streets of Truce as well as stay out of the fighting. He winced from minor wounds as he sat down. He leaned his back against the railing of a porch that belonged to the burnt-out shell of a house he had destroyed moments earlier. In the moment of quiet, he took the opportunity to reflect on the battle. 

The first opening attack was simple yet deadly. Flea and her Sorcerers had used wind power to toss the Rolly Bombers into the air. They had come down on the rooftops with magical accuracy, blowing them up as easily as one could snap a twig. The explosions drove the populace of Truce into the streets to see what was going on. After that, had it become the biggest bloodbath Janus would ever seen in his life. 

The Mystics fell upon the Humans with brutal force. Swords, axes, whatever weapons they used found their way into living bodies. He had watched with horror as a Brock casually lopped the head off of a helplessly terrified victim. Yattler and his team of archers shot barrages of their missiles into the sky and danced with glee as men, women, and children fell to the dust, their bodies looking like grotesque pincushions. FrazzelC'ur led his Grimalkins into the fray with all the light-heartedness of cold-blooded killers. Flea and her magic-users had took great delight in their work. They didn't seek to kill their victims, they maimed them beyond recognition and left them alive in agony and humiliation. They toyed with the humans, allowing them the chance to escape before tormenting them. Flea had gotten a pretty young girl cornered against the side of the Truce Inn. The young thing had been trembling and whimpering in fear. It tore Janus' normally indifferent heart to see her suffering in such a manner. 

"Oh, looky here! What a cute little bug I've found!," Flea had laughed wickedly. "Not as pretty as my boys like their girls though." Her hand suddenly flashed and razor-sharp ice crystals flew towards the girl. "Maybe these Jim-dandies will pretty her up a bit!" Janus heard the unfortunate girl scream in anguish again and again as Flea laughed and tossed her magic-created weapons at her. "I grow tired of this game," Flea yawned finally. She looked over her shoulder to Brock and his group. "Boys, she's all yours." Janus caught a glimpse of the girl before the Henchs closed in on her, their leers so terrifying that even Flea had to look away. The girl no longer had a face to speak of, Flea had damaged her so badly. Hopefully, the Henchs wouldn't torture her too long before she died from their sport. The best thing would have to done a mercy killing. 

Janus felt no love for the humans but this slaughter of innocents was something he would not participate in if he could help it. "I'll kill you, you murdering scum!," a man had shouted, his eyes awash with madness. "You butchered my whole family! I'm going to see you die like they did!" In his hands was a common pitchfork, his only weapon that he expected to use against magic as well as sword. 

"No, you are mistaken. I didn't kill your family. I am not responsible for their deaths," the youth had said quietly. The peasant had shook his head in denial. 

"You're one of them! You're a Mystic! It doesn't matter! You all need to die to avenge the wrongs you've committed!" Howling his grief, the man lunged at the young sorcerer. In a flash, Janus had his sword out and swung it in a shining arch, his new cloak billowing around him. The pitchfork fell from nerveless fingers as the ground became wet with a spreading red stain. That was the first time Janus had killed. He had stared down at the corpse and felt his stomach do a heave. Stumbling back, he had turned his back on the body and clasped a hand over his mouth. His glove was warm and wet. With bulging eyes he'd looked at the blood on his hand and frantically began rubbing his mouth on his cloak hem. Try as he might, the feeling of stickiness and the coppery tang to the air wouldn't leave him. 

A shuddering sob escaped his throat. Dropping his sword, he sank down next to the corpse of the man he'd slain. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he rocked from side to side, crying his heart out, begging forgiveness from whatever deity might be listening. A gut-wrenching pain lashed through him and for a second, he had thought he'd been run through by a blade. Instead, sweat broke out on his forehead as the Black Wind shrieked across the smoking town of Truce, mingling with the screams of the dying. The sun itself had hid from the sound, gathering dark clouds to hide it's light from the doomed villagers. A dense ground fog rolled in and in it's smokiness, the Black Wind had conjured images of specters and demons, all laughing in malicious glee. 

_Janus! You belong to ME, Janus....Janus! You belong to ME, Janus...._

"NOOOOO!," He cried out, the sound tearing from his throat. "Leave me alone! You are not my master! I am the master of my fate! You do not control me!!! I will not be ruled by the darkness!!!" 

"Janus! Get a hold of yourself!" 

"Noooo!," he moaned. A pair of hands grabbed him, trying to pull him towards the inky abyss, towards Lavos and the Black Wind. He had to fight, fight with all his strength! "Schala! Schala I need you!" A sharp slap across the face brought him back to his senses. "Wha...?" He had gaped at the hand holding him. It was strong, black, and feathered. Raising his head, he'd found himself staring into a pair of bright black eyes. 

"You ok, Janus?," GrabbleDrek had asked anxiously. He'd been ordered by Ozzie to keep Janus alive at all costs and then the stupid human had almost gone into fits. Janus had pointed a shaking finger at the corpse. 

"I k-killed him. He was going to kill me and I...I...Oh, gods!," his head sank into his hands, then he'd recoiled when he remembered the blood on them. "I didn't want to but he was-" 

"He was going to kill you," Drek had finished for him in a sneering voice. "What did you expect? This isn't just some sort of game, Janus. This is real life. This is a war. People are going to get hurt and are going to die. If you're going to run with this crowd, you'd better get used to having blood on your hands." He thrust the hilt of the youth's forgotten sword into his limp fingers. "Now take your weapon and do what you were meant to do here." 

"You mean kill?," Janus demanded sharply. Drek leaned close until his pointed beak was only inches from the youth's face. One feathered hand had gripped his chin tightly and kept it from moving away. 

"I mean to butcher, slaughter, slay, maul, mutilate and whatever else comes to mind until you drop dead or they do. You are a Mystic now, not some cowardly human, and you better damn well start acting like it!" 

Janus had angrily slapped Drek's hand away, gripping his sword hilt tightly and scrambling to his feet. His imposing six foot height had towered over the five foot tall Outlaw, but the spy didn't give ground to him. "Don't ever touch me again!," he had hissed in a deadly whisper. GrabbelDrek leered at him evilly. 

"Then do your job and I won't have to. But fail to live up to my expectations, and it will be..." Here he drew one finger over his throat in a swift cutting motion. "And just to make sure you stay in line, I think I'll keep this little knickknack for a while." With a lightning quick motion, Drek made a chopping action with his hand at the former prince's neck. Janus had jumped back, but not soon enough. One hand went to his throat while the other sliced the air with his sword. The weapon went wide, however, and missed it's mark. But when his fingers met unblemished skin, he had stared at Drek, puzzled for an instant. And then he saw that flash of gold and platinum shining from Drek's hand. It was the medallion Schala had given him! 

"Give it back! GIVE IT BACK!," he had screamed, lunging and swinging his sword wildly. The spy had only laughed and danced out of harms way. 

"You'll get this back depending on your behavior out here. Until then, I think I'll wear this pretty little trinket." Before Janus could make another move, one hand had slipped the talisman over his neck while the other tossed down a smoke pellet. Oily green-grey smoke made Janus retreat a few steps, choking and gagging. Drek's cruel laughter still echoed in his ears. 

An inarticulate scream of rage welled up from his throat. "Damn it!" he had shouted, his normally pale face red with fury. "If he wants to see blood flow, so be it! The streets will run red with my vengeance before I'm through!" Janus then unhooked his cloak and turned it to the reverse side which was a chilling bright crimson. Tossing it over his shoulders, he re-hooked the clip. The sounds of battle still echoed in the air around him, though not in the near vicinity. Silently, like the specter of death himself, he had walked through the town towards the fighting. If he trod upon the broken bodies of Mystics or their victims, he was not slowed. Turning the corner he saw Flea and the rest of the army fending off an onslaught of knights. 

"Yattler! Where is that thrice-cursed birdbrain?!," Flea was shouting, alternating her magical attacks from her signature fire kisses to her Waltz of Wind and a few of her less powerful ice attacks. Beside her, FrazzelC'ur was having surprising luck defending himself against fully armored knights. Apparently, it was easier to move without the bulk of plate mail. 

"Old birdbrain has bit the dust! Pretty soon, so will us!," Frazzel had rhymed above the din, delivering a mighty blow to a soldier's unprotected throat. There had been a vile crunching sound and the man fell over, his neck broken. Brock was fending off three knights easily with his battle-ax. His large girth made him a formidable opponent. 

"This is for the glory of the Mystics!," Janus had shouted at the top of his lungs. For the space of a heartbeat, all heads had turned to him. He moved among them with cold precision. He was no master swordsman, but more then once his blade found it's mark. Those he couldn't defeat with a weapon, he blasted with a magical attack. Gradually his fire spells and lightning spells gave way to raw, dark energy. Subconsciously he harnessed the power of his anger and hatred, transforming it into blazing balls of crackling power. The dark energy was strong but they were very draining on his reserves of strength, both mentally and physically. 

_And that brings me to now_, Janus concluded in his mind as he wrapped up the summary. The knights were being forced back and the Mystics were cheering loudly at their victories. A shadow fell over him. It was Flea. Her face was grimy and sweat-streaked. Her normally spotless attire was torn in places, stained with red and green blood, hers and human's, and covered with all manner of filth. Her hair was singed and sticking up in all directions, and yet she seemed unconcerned for once on her appearance. A wide smile spread over her face as she joined Janus on the step. 

"Not bad for small skirmish, I'd say," she laughed, punching her grim companion's arm. Janus rubbed the spot she'd hit as it started to sting. Trust Flea to land a punch on a bruise. 

"Small skirmish?," he repeated incredulously. "How did the knights get involved? I thought we weren't going to bring them into this!" 

"You call those clowns knights? You must be daffy! Those were only the sword fodder, the front-line, the soldiers." 

"So, you mean I've been thinking of them as knights this whole time and I've been wrong?" 

"Well, there were a few full fledged knights along in there, but they were few and far between." 

"How did they show up anyway? It's not like you didn't have people there to keep them away," Janus growled. Now that his raw, unbridled emotions were ebbing, he found he had developed a rather splitting headache. Flea scratched her chin, heedless of the dirt that was scraped off under her nails. 

"It was that idiot Yattler. I knew he was bad luck. He couldn't lead a team to save his life!" Seeing Janus starting to open his mouth to prompt the whole story, Flea sighed. "I think one of the few knights we fought managed to get passed Yattler and his troops and report back to the castle. The soldiers were sent to put us down. That must have been the move of the Chancellor or the King," she mused. 

"What makes you say that?" 

"Well, first of all, sending pitifully weak opponents to stop us is like building a wall of twigs to stand against a hurricane. It's obvious to a trained tactician, such as myself, that it wasn't the move of a skilled strategist. My only question is, should we fully demolish this town or let some people live to spread the tale to the knights when they show up." 

"What makes you think anyone will show up anytime soon?" 

"Being the brilliant field commander that I am, I decided to let the last handful of soldiers head back over to the castle to call for reinforcements." 

"And what good will that do?," Janus inquired. Flea smiled and pointed. The young man turned his head to look. A large group of men in armor were racing towards the town. As Flea had described, these men looked much different then the soldiers. Their armor was more full and brightly polished. Their capes flapped in the hot, smoky wind like the wings of avenging angels. Flea slapped Janus on the back and stood up. 

"Well, half-time is over and it's time to get back to business. See you later, Janus," she waved. Then over her shoulder she added ominously, "If you survive that is." Janus watched as she ran screaming like a madwoman into the new battle and raised a slender eyebrow after her. Trust the Mystic magician to do things with as little dignity or honor as she could. Then he snorted in derision. _As if I'm any better_, he thought bitterly. 

The fight was in full swing in such a short time. Apparently, the knights had much more strength and skill then the soldiers their army had fought earlier. Unlike them, these men could dice a Mystic up by double-teaming them with moves Janus had come to refer to as X-Strikes, because that's what they looked like. Some could use weak tech spells like Fire or Ice. No Lightning spells were used, the young man noted. He guessed it was probably because of all the armor they were wearing. Since metal was a good conductor for electric energy, it probably wouldn't be wise to fool around with magic that could fry you along with your enemies. Janus was actually rather proud that he remembered that tidbit of knowledge from one of Flea's lessons. The battle was starting to move his way and he doubted if he could remain apart from the fighting much longer. Though his limbs were aching with fatigue and cuts, he dragged himself to his feet. 

"Death to all Mystics!" 

Turning, he saw a knight standing before him. From what he could tell of the man, Janus surmised they were around the same age. He was slightly shorter then Janus, but he held himself with all the stiff formality that he had come to expect from a knight. His sword-arm didn't falter as he realized he had captured his target's attention. 

"What did you say?," Janus inquired, not bothering to raise his own weapon. 

"I said, death to all Mystics, and that means you!" 

"What's that I hear?," Janus asked suddenly, cocking his head. "Yes, yes I do believe it is the sound of your mother calling you. You'd better go home and see what she wants." The young knight went purple with rage. 

"You'll die for that insult!," he growled. Janus started to turn his back on him. 

"Get lost!" 

He heard the sound of the blade whistle as it came down as well as a flash of movement, giving Janus the inclination to drop and roll out of harms way. As he came around to face the youth who had the audacity to attack him, he felt a warm wetness soaking his shirt. Looking down, he saw a rather deep cut in his shoulder. His eyes slowly traveled from the wound to his opponent. 

"Now you know that I mean business," the young knight hissed. Janus smiled grimly as he staggered to his feet. The new wound throbbed unmercifully as he adjusted his grip on the sword. 

"Bad move. You should have ran when you had the chance!" Janus sprang into the air, slicing down with his sword. The knight scrambled out of the way barely in the nick of time. Before he could recover, Janus slammed into him, knocking them both over. Though the move winded the knight, the young magician hadn't counted on his shoulder giving him problems. The pain wrenched a low cry from his throat and as such, he wasn't able to maintain a solid grip on his sword. His hand reflexively dropped the weapon and clutched at the bloody cut. The knight was coughing, trying to get some air into his lungs. Releasing his shoulder, Janus picked up his sword and placed the point against the knight's chest, directly over his heart. 

"Now you die!," he grated. The knight looked into Janus' eyes and swallowed hard. He saw all of his short life flashing past his eyes and coming to a sudden halt at the end of the Mystic's sword point. At first, it looked as if he were going to cry, but then he sucked up his courage and thrust his chin out arrogantly, determined to be a knight till the end. Janus drew back his arm for the final thrust...and found himself in relatively the same position as his victim. 

A sword tip had decided to poke him painfully in the back. "Get up, foul villain! Fight someone who hast the skill to match your wickedness with his own honor!" Slowly, Janus rose to his feet, letting his sword hang limply in his grasp. A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. A startled gasp escaped his throat as he found himself starring right into the face of the man he'd hated for the past eight years. It was none other, then Sir Cedrick. 

. 


	15. MAGUS! Part 2

****

The Story Of Magus Chapter 14 

****

MAGUS! Part 2 

By ZealPropht 

There are times in a person's life when it seems as if destiny is staring you right in the face. You can seize the moment or you can let it quietly slip by, never to be seen again. Janus wasn't about to let the moment go. He had dreamed of this for so long and now, it was within his grasp. He looked down at the sword tip leveled against his breast-bone and followed it with his eyes upwards until it reached a metal clad hand, farther up the polished armor to Sir Cedrick's cold, impassive features. His lavender gaze locked with the old knight's eyes and he had the pleasure of seeing them widen with sudden recognition. 

"YOU!," Cedrick gaped, his mouth dropping open in shock. "But it can't be! You're _dead!_" Janus smiled and gave a slow, lazy shrug.

"Hello to you too, sir knight. I'm glad to see you remember me after all this time," the youth replied. Cedrick flinched and took a step backward, shaking his head in denial. 

"But you're _dead!_," he shrieked yet again. Janus heaved a sigh and placed a hand over his heart in mock sorrow.

"No, really? And here I thought I was just a little under the weather lately." The young magician threw back his head and laughed long and loud, excitement and the pain from his wounded shoulder making his musical voice harsh and crazed sounding. Breaking off in mid-laugh, he lowered his voice to where it was almost too low to be heard above the sounds of battle around them. "I have returned from the grave to finish things, Cedrick. I have come back to see you die!"

It was a credit to the knight that he was able to pull himself back into his imposing self. "Aye, it is time to end this. I thought you were dead, burried in the ashes of time and infinity. I see now that I was wrong. I shall complete what I started so long ago." 

"Sir Cedrick!," the young knight shouted. Both Janus and Cedrick turned, having totally forgotten the man's presence. "Allow me to fight at your side, sir. I, too, hold a debt to collect from this varlet! He has faught me to a standstill and honor demands that I fight him for dishonoring me." 

"Get lost, shrimp!," Janus hissed. "This fight doesn't concern you anymore." He noticed that Cedrick appeared thoughtful on that score. "What's wrong, old man? Can't fight your battles by yourself anymore? Or would you like fire instead?" The old knight rose to the bait. 

With a curt gesture, he ordered the young knight back. "Be gone, as he says. This is a private score between us and it t'would be ill befitting your honor to interfere."

The young man gave a half-hearted protest. "But-" 

"Go!," Cedrick snapped. Then seeing the young knight's fallen expression, his tone softened. "There will be another time, another place where your honor may be avenged." 

"I suppose you are right. Good luck, Sir Cedrick." He gave a snappy salute which Cedrick returned gravely with his blade. The young knight retrieved his lost sword, gave Janus one last look of contempt, and went running into the dwindling crowds still fighting. 

"How noble, and who would have expected it from you?," Janus sneered, carefully bending down to get his own weapon. Cedrick backed away a respectful distance and took a few experimental swings. 

"I did not do it for him or for your piece of mind, Janus." He spat the name like an oath. "I did it because I do not relish the thought of a witness to what I am about to do to you." He watched as Janus leaned his sword against his thigh so he could twine his long hair into a knot and stuff it into the hood of his red cloak. 

Janus noticed Cedrick looking at him curiously for that move. He went ahead and answered the unspoken question. "Too many people are starting to remember me of late. Why invite disaster in announcing my presence?" 

"Enough prattle! Time to die!," Cedrick growled, giving the knight's salute to the enemy. Janus gravely returned the salute. Slash had been adamant that the best way to throw an enemy off-guard, especially a knight, was to beat his honor with some of your own. Giving a silent thanks to Slash, Janus just prayed that all the knowledge he'd imparted would be enough to win this battle. 

The two men circled each other like sharks, neither one wanting to make the first move. They studied each other's movements carefully, gauging the other's skill with quiet respect. Cedrick moved somewhat stiffly from age but there was no doubt that he was still more then a match for most men, let alone Janus who was no virtuoso with a blade. The young magician on the other hand had a cat-like grace in his movements. Cedrick could tell he'd been trained by a master, even if his techniques were not up to par. If anything, his agility would save his life more then true skill with a weapon would. 

The constant tension between the two was becoming unbearable for Janus. His fingers clenched and loosened around the hilt, itching for action. _Attack, you old fool!_, he urged silently. But no, the old knight was not going to be foolish enough to do that. _You could cheat_, a whispering voice said in his head. _Use your magic! Destroy him with your power. He can not defend himself from that. _Janus was so engrossed in these thoughts that he almost missed the deadly swipe of Cedrick's blade towards his face. He raised his blade and the two weapons clashed. Janus could feel the vibration from the heavy stroke all the way up into his shoulder, making him wince. Blinking back tears of pain, Janus shoved with all his might against the two locked blades. His push barely made the old knight take a step back. 

Once again they circled each other. This time Janus made the move. He took three steps forward, stabbing with each lunge. Cedrick was forced back, quickly slapping the blade away each time it was thrust at his torso. Twirling the sword over his head, he shouted, "Nirvana strike!" The sword the old knight held began to glow a deep crimson, electric energy combined with fire crackling along the keen edge. With the empowered weapon, he leapt into the air, bringing it down towards Janus' head. In a reflex movement, the youth brought his sword up to deflect the blow, but as the two swords met, there was a flash and Janus was blown off his feet. He went flying backward a good ten yards, tumbling head over heels into a ruined building, bounced off a wall, and finally slammed onto the charred yet intact wooden floor with stunning force. Janus doubled over gasping, the breath having left his lungs on impact. It was painful to breathe and his wounded shoulder was in so much agony he could no longer use that arm. Not that it would have done much good if he could have, his sword, the only weapon he had, was shattered, broken at the hilt. 

The pain was almost more then he could bear. Blood soaked his shirt and cloak, most of it his own from re-opening his many wounds with this constant flurry of activity. It dripped steadily down his left arm and filled his glove. His fingers were going numb from poor circulation. Stars were dancing before his eyes as he fought to remain conscious. The sound of metal shod boots, knelling like mourning bells, were coming towards him. Blinking his eyes back into focus, Janus looked around for a weapon of any sort. _Use your magic, finish the battle with a single word! Give in to the power inside you. Become one with your anger and unleash the furry within you. Control it into a vortex of dark matter and destroy Cedrick!_ Janus gritted his teeth and slammed shut a mental door on the taunting, alluring thoughts. No, he would finish this with honor. He was not going to stoop to the level of a Mystic. 

His roving eyes fell upon the dead body of a farmer. He was wounded only once but the blow had been fatal. The man had apparently died by falling on his own weapon, a rusty wheat scythe, which he'd probably used to defend himself with, albeit not very well. It was to be Janus' last hope. Using his good arm, he dragged himself over to the body and pried the cold fingers from around the hilt. They clasped the wooden shaft with tenacity that only the dead have. The sightless eyes stared at him accusingly, as if Janus was denying him a weapon even in the after-life. "Give it to me," the young man muttered. "You have no need for it but_ I do_." Surprisingly the stiff fingers relaxed and he was able to slide the weapon out from their grip. Hiding the blade behind his back, he quietly waited for Cedrick to walk in and find him, laying in his own blood on the floor. 

. 

Cedrick let the power in his sword die, watching the color leave the shining surface as he would soon watch the life leaving Janus' face. The boy was too much of a threat. He had been a fool not to personally see his demise when he'd had the chance. Letting him burn in the flames so long ago had been a burst of inspiration, seeing as how Cedrick was squeamish when it came to killing a child. However, Janus was no longer a child. "This will even the score between us one and for all. Fate has played it's part in bringing us together this final time. Now will all be decided," the old knight said to himself. He stood outside the broken door way of the building. Inside, he could see Janus' form on the floor, unmoving. Readying his weapon, Cedrick stepped into the final battle prepared. 

*****

"Fredrick Pendil, reporting for duty, sir!" The Knight Captain turned his attention away from the smoking remains of Truce and looked at the young knight who had come to join him. The young man was smeared with ash and multi-colored Mystic blood. His right arm was in a sling and he was trying to salute with his left hand. 

"Sir Pendil, I thought I had sent you to the infirmary for medical attention. What are you doing returned?" 

"I came to help, sir. I know we are short on able bodied men and I am fit enough to help," Fredrick replied. The Knight Captain looked him over with careful scrutiny. Seeing his commander's eyes lingering on his wounded arm, the young knight cleared his throat. "It is a mere scratch, sir, nothing more. It will not hinder my competency to perform a task." 

"Are you quite sure? I do not wish to put you in peril with a battle wound," the golden knight asked, trying to hide a smile. When Fredrick nodded stiffly, he forced a solemn look. "You art a brave warrior, comrade. I shall see that you are remembered on the Scrolls of Honor for this noble act." 

Sir Pendil beamed. "Thank you sir!"

"The Mystics have retreated for now and we hath procured a search of the surrounding environs for survivors, both from our side and theirs. You canst accompany me whilst we look." 

The young knight saluted again, a little sharper this time, and fell into step with his leader. As they walked, they past by a large pile of Mystic bodies that were being gathered up. Later, they would be tossed in a ditch somewhere and covered with dirt. No ceremony to honor the dead was to be performed. In the human's eyes, Mystics were like animals for they did not fight with honor and therefore deserved none imparted on them. Fredrick looked at the piles, wondering if he would see the body of that blue-haired Mystic in the red cape he'd fought.

"What are you staring at?," the Knight Captain inquired. 

"Merely looking to see if a score had been settled," the youth answered. As they left the pile of bodies behind, he added, "But I don't think it has." The two men continued walking, watching as knights and soldiers both alive and dead were carried off the battlefield. A field medic bearing the royal colors hastened up and saluted. 

"Yes?," the golden knight asked. 

"Field check completed on the east, west, and north sides of Truce, sir. Casualty rates are high as are the fatality rates. They hit us harder then we did them," the medic replied sadly. "The names of the identifiable victims killed are being tallied up and a full list will be given shortly."

"Identifiable victims?," Fredrick hedged. The medic gave him a baleful look. 

"It's hard to tell who a person is when there isn't a lot left to work with, you know," he snapped. Fredrick went a shade paler then he already was and looked ill. The medic returned his attention back to the Knight Captain. "Another thing you may want to know, sir, is that Sir Cedrick is missing in action." 

"What?," the golden captain exclaimed. "No body hast been recovered?"

"No sir. At least not in the sectors we covered. He may be located in the southern section of town, where we haven't checked yet," the medic responded. The Knight Captain nodded and turned to Fredrick.

"I wouldst ask you to accompany me to the southern side of Truce, my friend, but with your wounds, I dare not ask it of you."

"Don't worry about me, sir. I can manage," the young man replied.

"I shall come as well. A medic may come in handy if Sir Cedrick is wounded," the man said. Together the three of them started off with hurried steps towards the area where unbeknownst to them, a blood-feud was nearing it's conclusion. As they neared the south edge of Truce, they scanned the imediate area for survivors. Not one body moved under their eyes.

"I don't think he's here," Fredrick commented, turning over another corpse. 

"That is a small comfort at least. But then, me thinks he may lieth within yonder buildings," the Knight Captain stated, wiping his brow free of sweat generated by the heat of the smoldering rubble all around him. The three men stood in silence, looking at each other with grim expressions. "Let us split up," the golden knight declared at last. "It shall speed up the search. But be wary! Who knows what manner of filth may be lying in wait for us." Saluting their captain, the medic and Fredrick went in their separate directions, leaving the golden knight to take the road straight ahead. Keeping his eyes watchful, he proceeded with caution.

The first building was deserted and the second one held the remains of a slaughtered family. It made the man's stomach knot in anger as he looked at the children who would never again play in the warm sunshine, and the young parents who would never live to see their grand-children. A sound broke his reverie. It sounded like the clash of metal against metal. There was a shout of "Nirvana strike!" and a flash of light. Racing to the door, the Knight Captain was just in time to see a red-cloaked Mystic fly backwards from the attack and tumble into a building. A few seconds later, Sir Cedrick came into view. He waited a few minutes until his blade returned to normal before he pursued his foe. The golden knight raised an eyebrow and curiously followed after at a respectable distance. After all, it was Cedrick's enemy and it would not be befitting his honor if the other knight were to barge in. However, he would still be around if the old knight needed help. That thought in mind, he slunk quietly around the side of the building and peeked into the window, to keep a look out for ambushes of course. At least, that was what he kept trying to convince himself. But there had been something in Cedrick's manner he hadn't liked. A movement too vicious, a look too cold, a glint in his eyes too cruel. This man boded watching. 

*****

Cedrick approached Janus' body slowly. It lay un-moving, un-protesting within the red cape that covered his entire body. He was lying face down on the floor, his head and face covered with the hood. It was apparent that he passed out from weariness and, undoubtedly, pain. Gripping the sword he held in both hands, Cedrick raised it above his head for a downward thrust. "Forgive me for not asking if you have any final words, but you understand." Driving the sword down, it penetrated the body and became lodged deep within the wood of the floor as it reached the other side. 

"Oh, but I do have some last words, Sir Cedrick." The old knight whirled around and stared straight into a pair of lavender eyes. Janus drew back his arm. A wickedly curved scythe was held in his grasp. "Rot in hell you bastard!" With all his strength, he brought the weapon down across the knight's chest. There was a flash of light as the metal parted, quickly filling with red. Cedrick staggered back, his hands involuntarily clutching at the gaping wound. It was mortal, both knew it. The old man fell heavily back against the wall and slid to the floor with a grinding sound like rusted gears as his armor scratched the burnt wood. With his failing eye-sight, he watched as Janus grasped the hilt of his sword and yanked. It took a few tries but finaly the heavy blade came free of the wood and the body, dragging the cloak with it. The person Cedrick had thought to be Janus was not him at all. Where the young magician should have been laying was a stranger.

Janus replaced his cloak over his shoulders. The stains on it felt clammy and sticky but he ignored them. His sudden inspiration had paid off. It was only at the last minute that he had the idea to disguise the other body as himself and take Cedrick by surprise. Luckily, the gambit had paid off. Giving one last look at the dying man, he prepared to leave.

"Don't think you canst leave me here to die like this!," Cedrick gurgled. "Honor wouldst not allow it and I know you have some honor in you. For the sake of my son, you canst not-"

"Cyrus isn't your son," Janus cut him off. "And you are wrong. My code of honor is different from yours. I live and will die by my own set of rules." Walking away, leaving the wounded knight to perish, he added to himself, "But only I will decide when I wish to expire. Only I will decide my destiny." 

*****

The medic and Fredrick were approaching the building when they caught sight of the Knight Captain walking quietly away. The two men ran up and saluted but he ignored them, as if pre-occupied with his own thoughts. Confused, the aids followed him. 

"Sir, we checked the areas all around the left and right sectors of the south side but neither of us could find any survivors, nor the body of Sir Cedrick," the medic informed his commanding officer. When he received no response, he looked at Fredrick who shook his head. He was as lost as his companion. "Sir?," the medic tried again. 

"I heard you. It doesn't matter now. Cedrick is dead," the golden knight replied. The two men walking beside him were shocked by the coldness in his voice. 

"You mean, you found him? You saw his body?," Fredrick asked. He gulped uneasily when the superior knight's eyes turned on him. 

"I mean, that as far as I am concerned, Cedrick is-" 

"Sir, look!," the medic interrupted. "A Mystic!" Fredrick turned and gasped. Janus had limped out, looking ragged and worn in his shredded cape, a scythe brown with rust and drying blood in his hand. 

"That's him, sir!," Fredrick hissed to the Knight Captain. "That's the Mystic I was telling you about!"

"Looting the bodies, no doubt!," the medic growled in disgust. The Knight Captain's face was furious but he held his tongue. His companions didn't know what he knew, hadn't seen what Cedrick had done when he thought no one was around to witness it. Whether or not that body he had run through had been a Mystic, had it been an defenseless enemy, then that would have been out and out murder. The Knight's Code strictly forbade a person to strike down an unarmed opponent or one unable to defend himself. And yet, despite that, Cedrick had been willing to do just that, to take a life of one who, despite the fact the cur most likely deserved it, could not defend himself. The Knight Captain was disgusted at such an breach of honor.

"He shall not return to his friends except perhaps in a pine box!," the young Fredrick cried, drawing his sword and pointing it in the direction Janus was leaving. Suddenly, another figure appeared in the doorway. 

"Wait! Look!," the medic shouted, drawing his eager companion up short. "Isn't that...Sir Cedrick?!" 

The old knight teetered in the doorway. His face was ashen, even down to his mustash that was shot with gray. In his hand he held a dagger. He'd used every ounce of strength to drag himself to his feet and over to the door, nearly falling with every step. His legs could barely support him and his vision dimmed and cleared at will. His breath wheezed in his chest, growing further and further apart. The small weapon he held had been concealed in his boot where Janus hadn't seen it. The metal felt slippery in his grasp from the blood on his metal gauntlets. He focused on Janus' retreating back, red cape billowing in the smoky air. Drawing on the force of his hatred, he raised the dagger... 

"He isn't...He CAN'T be...!," the medic gasped in shock. "I do believe he's going to throw that knife at the Mystic's back!" 

"Cedrick, no!," the Knight Captain shouted in despair, whirling around. "Do not compile your sins!" The words traveled in the air, but didn't phase the knight. His lust for the magician's destruction was blocking all rational thought. Things seemed to happen in slow motion. The dagger flew from Cedrick's hand just as Janus started to turn to see what was going on. The Knight Captain reached out with one hand as if he could pluck the spinning weapon from the air. In a reflex action, Janus whipped his hand out to stop the blade. A wall of pure dark energy reflected it, reversing the dagger straight into Cedrick's chest, striking through the armor as if it wasn't even there. 

"A magus!," the medic breathed in awe. His companions looked at him in confusion. "A magus is an extremely powerful magician. I remember my grandfather telling me stories that his grandfather told him about these extraordinary magic users who could use more then the meager spells we use today. They were masters of the elements."

Janus gaped in disbelief at what he had done. Cedrick wavered on his feet, one hand clutching at the hilt that protruded from the metal of his breast-plate. The force of the spell had plunged it cleanly into his heart. With a final look at Janus, his legs gave way beneath him. It seemed as if the whole world held it's breath as he slowly...slumped...and fell to the ground, dead. Then time started again. Janus fell to one knee breathing hard. Fredrick and the medic began to hurry over. And suddenly a black body imposed itself between them. 

"Back! The next one who moves gets a chest full of bolts!," Drek squawked. The Knight Captain motioned and his companions stopped in their tracks. Drek backed up until he was beside Janus. He thrust a small bottle towards his hand. "Drink this, kid. It will help with the pain." Janus' hand was trembling with fatigue as he uncorked the bottle and swallowed the contents. It was a cold drink, akin to water but he had the faint impression of lemons and mint mixed in. As the liquid splashed down his throat, he felt a tingling warmth spread through his limbs as the potion's curative powers kicked in. He felt minor cuts begin to mend and the pain in his shoulder lessen. Drek's arm slipped around his shoulders and helped him stand. 

"Hasta la vista, you simps! We are outta here!," the Outlaw cackled, tossing down a smoke pellet and invoking a minor teleportation spell. The three men choked on the smoke and waved it away irritably. Fredrick took a few steps forward as if he wanted to follow the vanished pair of Mystics. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, however. 

"No, let them go," the Knight Captain said. "They have won his victory. They fought with honor." 

"But sir!," Fredrick protested, his young face flushing with anger. "They are Mystics! One of them just killed a fellow knight and you are letting them escape?" 

"Yes, I am," the golden knight replied, turning away. Fredrick, forgetting his status in his anger, grabbed the superior knight's arm and forced him around. 

"Honor demands that we not let them escape!," he grated harshly. A dam seemed to break loose and the golden knight began backing the younger knight up with each cold word he spoke. 

"Honor also demands that you not question a superior officer. Honor also demands that a knight obey the Knight's Code." He pointed in the general direction Cedrick's body now lay. "He did not obey the Knight's Code and he hast paid the price for it. But what is more, he is now disgraced and those of his ilk are disgraced with him. It falls upon me to deliver these unhappy tidings of not only his death but of his downfall to his widow and his son, who is one of the best of the trainees and was destined to follow his father into greatness. But now it is never to be all because of a lack of honor! So remember your place, sir, and do not presume to tell me of what honor dictates, for I have had my belly full!" 

*****

. 

The teleportation spell deposited Janus and Drek along-side a road where the victorious Mystics marched wearily, but sated, back towards Ozzie's Fort. Drek helped support Janus who limped along slowly through the crowded highway. The sounds of his fellow Mystics laughing and celebrating was like the dull roar of the ocean, breaking in waves against his ears. His head felt stuffed with cotton or something just as thick. Janus also felt strangely empty and extremely tired, as if he was missing a part of himself on the inside. 

"Doing alright?," Drek croaked. His beady little eyes gleamed brightly as they looked up at him. Janus managed to nod but the movement made him dizzy and sick to his stomach. 

"Well, you don't look alright. Drink another one of these." The bird-man handed another flask of potion, but this one was sweeter then the last one and it made the empty feeling diminish a good bit and the weariness become managable. 

"What is that stuff?," the youth asked, eying the flask as he finished the last of it and handed it back. Drek took it and placed it into some hidden pocket in his uniform. 

"Oh that? That was just a few swallows left of a special elixer that helps heal wounds and replenishes magic power. It isn't a good substitute for your body's natural magic power, but that can only be regained after rest. You see, every magician has his or her limit of how much energy they can use to cast spells. If too much energy is used, then a magician will pass out from the exhaustion. It's like when running. You may be able to run really far in a short period of time, but the more you run, the more tired you become, until you just can't run anymore. Oh, you can push past the normal limits and achieve greater stamina, but eventually everyone hast to rest." 

"Where did you learn all this?," Janus asked curiously. "It sounds like you know alot about magic. Flea never told me any of this stuff."

"I'm not surprised. She is very stupid. I think she is afraid that if everyone knew about stuff like this, we'd gang up on her and give her a stomping. I have the privilege to know certain things because-" Drek stopped, looked up at Janus sharply, and finished carefully. 

"Because I'm a friend of Ozzie and he tells me these things." 

Janus didn't appear to notice the slip up and mentally Drek heaved a sigh. He had come dangerously closed to saying that he was really a spy and it was his job to know things like that. As it was, he didn't want Janus to think he knew Ozzie too well, or else he might get suspicious. As it was, the Outlaw suspected that maybe Janus had been leading him into a trap to get him to admit his real nature. A second look at the young magician said that he probably was thinking nothing of the sort. The few sips of elixir he'd drunk helped some, but it would be days before he was the same again. And even then, mental scars don't heal as fast. Luckily, the battle had achieved Ozzie's final goal. The youth was broken, pliable, easy to corrupt, now that he was at his most vulnerable. The Mystic leader would reward him and Flea well for their work this day, though she didn't play as big a role as he had. 

"I'm so proud of you!," the Outlaw went on, once he was reassured Ozzie's little toy wasn't going to die on him. "I watched you out there on that battlefield just ripping those suckers apart! You brought glory to the Mystics this day." 

"My amulet," Janus mumbled through numb lips that were slowly getting a bluish tinge from lost blood and from breathing too much of the smoke polluted air back in Truce. "I want my amulet back." Drek squirmed a little uncomfortably. He clacked his beak nervously. 

"Amulet? What amulet?," he asked, feigning confusion to buy for time. He liked the shiny little bauble and was loathe to give it up. Storm clouds hovered around his companion's face as it darkened with anger. If the bird-man could have licked his lips to relieve his tension, he would have. As it was, he could only ruffle his feathers. The smell of sweaty chicken filled the air as he perspired. "I don't recall any sort of-" 

"Don't play stupid!," Janus snarled, closing a hand around the Outlaw's throat. "Either you give it to me or I'll squeeze you till your eyes pop!" Drek squirmed and flapped his arms in a vain attempt to fly away. His animal instincts were taking over and he cawed and cackled in desperation. 

"I don't have it!," he choked out at last. The hand around his neck tightened and he felt his eyes bulge from their sockets. "Alright, alright! I do have it! Let me go!" 

"And let you get away? I don't think so! Hand it over!," Janus demanded impatiently. Drek blinked and made unintelligent bird sounds as he fought to free himself. "Give it to me or prepare to meet your maker!"

"Let me go and I'll give it to you!" Once more the hand tightened. "I...swear...I won't run away! Telling...the truth! Can't....breathe!" Suddenly the hand was gone and the ground rushed to meet him. Drek coughed and wheezed, trying to fill his lungs. Palming a dagger, he was prepared to teach this whelp just who he was messing with. But by the time he scrambled to his feet, Janus was already holding his scythe at battle position. Cursing, Drek put the knife away and pulled out the medallion from within his shirt, wishing for the first time he had never agreed to take this job himself. 

Janus snatched it away with such vengeance that Drek felt like counting to see how many fingers he had left. Quickly turning the amulet over and over in his hands, regardless of the grime and gore that covered them, Janus checked for any damage. At first he found none, but then he noticed a slight scratch that marred the surface. Dreadfull fury rose in his head. Janus whirled around to punish the stupid Outlaw but he was nowhere to be seen. Carefully slipping the chain over his head, he placed it back inside his own shirt. The cool metal was reassuring as it lay in it's customary place over his heart. There would be time enough to get even with the Outlaw who had tarnished the beauty of the carefully engraved amulet. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry to him, not by a long shot. It represented his entire past. It was the last vestiges of his home and his sister. Schala...A swift ache contracted his chest as he thought of her. What would she think of him now? Would she recognize him, covered as he was in blood and dirt and sweat? Not likely, Janus thought bitterly. Not very likely at all.... 


	16. MAGUS! Part 3

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The Story Of Magus Chapter 15 

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MAGUS! Part 3 

By ZealPropht 

Ozzie paced back and forth before his throne, uneasy and irritated. Drek had reported in many hours ago close to the end of the battle...and hadn't reported since. What was happening? Were the Mystic armies winning? Were Janus and Flea still alive? How Ozzie hated relying on underlings to do his dirty work! If only he were a few years younger...! Pausing to look down at his rotund body, the Mystic leader realized that a few years still wouldn't put a dent in his flab. That was the whole reason he'd given up a general's position to the last Mystic war-lord and went into politics. 

The throne room was filled to almost over-flowing with Mystics who impatiently awaited the army's return. They shifted and talked. And walked and moaned. Some ate the refreshments and gulped down the punch till they couldn't walk. Some snored loudly until their neighbor elbowed them or moved...or silenced them permanently. At least a chair was vacated after that. Some simply left. After all, when the army arrived, they'd most likely hear about it. But the way things looked, it wouldn't be soon. How long did it take to kill a bunch of humans, anyway? The whole day had gone by. Where was everyone?! 

"Lord Ozzie! Lord Ozzie!" 

A large Hench in the customary blue uniform came hurrying through the crowd, shoving aside all who got in his way. The room fell into a hush as they watched the Hench struggle to the throne. Running up to his master, the he stood on tiptoes to reach Ozzie's ear, since he was hovering off the floor like usual, and started whispering franticly. The Mystic's face went from intense concentration to utter joy and relief. The waiting hoards looked at each other and muttered amongst themselves, wondering what the commotion was. Stepping back, the Hench awaited orders. Ozzie rubbed his chin and cackled. 

"Send them in," he commanded. The Hench bowed and scurried through the crowd again. 

"Make way! Move over! Watch out, bub!" Finally, he made his way to the large double doors on the side of the room that led to the gardens. "Hey you!," he called to a silent group of Decedents. "Get your bony butts over here and help me open these doors!" The skeletal minions shuffled into place and reached out with cold, fleshless hands to pull the enormous handles of the double-doors with all their undead strength. The un-oiled hinges creaked and screamed as the doors were slowly opened. The torch-light fell upon worn Mystic forms as the army walked into the throne room. The crowd was silent and parted for Flea, who was leading, and Janus, who trailed sullenly behind, to approach Ozzie. 

Flea marched right up to her superior and executed a flashy bow. Janus separated from the others and stayed near the wall behind the throne. Flea, he knew, was about to launch into an impossibly fantastic tale of how they swept upon the humans with a vengeance and beat them to a bloody pulp in a few seconds. Everyone would cheer and the punch would be replaced with wine and beer to celebrate the victory. In the chaos, the young magician hoped to sneak away and retreat to the quiet safety of his room where he could nurse his wounds and fragile emotional state in peace. 

"O Great Ozzie, Divine Head-Honcho of our race, I, the Magician Flea, have returned from the heart of battle to tell you of the fight." The woman waited for a response of some sort, perhaps a flowery oration of her title, as she had done for him. Ozzie was in no mood for her theatrics, however, and crossed his arms over his stomach. 

"Yes, yes! Get on with it already! What happened? Did we win?" 

"We fought like devils, Lord Ozzie! The humans were weak and didn't expect the attack, as you said they wouldn't. Oh, you are so brilliant!," Flea fawned. Ozzie rolled his eyes and tapped his foot on the air. 

"That's why I'm the Mystic leader and not you," he commented uneasily. "Get to the point already! Did we win?" But Flea was lost in her own little world of glory and grandeur and would not be put out. 

"The humans tried to defend against us with their pathetic Knights of the Square Table. Sometimes it looked as if the humans might overpower us, but our Mystic strength saved the day, once again, and they were forced to retreat. Wave after wave of attacks we fended off! It was a glorious battle! Our names will go down in history after today's triumph!" 

"So we beat them?" Ozzie asked yet again, rubbing his eyes. What was SO difficult about this yes or no question? 

"We nailed them! We pulverized them! We creamed them-" 

"We beat them," Janus interjected from his position against the wall. 

"Wonderful!" Ozzie crowed. "Spectacular!" The room, which had been listening this whole time, erupted into noise as everyone clapped and shouted. As Janus had predicted, the sounds of corks being popped resounded above the din and barrels were rolled into view. The Mystics practically attacked these on sight and soon, half the room was vacated as they clawed each other to reach the booze first. 

"Where is Slash?," Flea asked, caning her neck. "I rather hoped he'd be here." 

"He said that he had better things to do then to wait for you to come home and gloat in his face," Ozzie responded wryly. Flea coughed awkwardly and shuffled her feet at having been read so easily. Ozzie laughed. "Don't worry your pretty head about that, my dear. I'm sure you'll get the chance soon enough." Taking a seat in his throne, he smoothed his robes over the great expanse of his belly. Looking around, Ozzie wondered where GrabbleDrek had gotten himself to. The Mystic leader was especially anxious to ask about Janus' performance during the battle. Catching sight of him at the back as he managed to snag a glass of wine, Ozzie whistled to catch Drek's attention. The Outlaw turned and waved that he heard and was coming. 

"Later, I want a full account of exactly what happened today, Flea," Ozzie said absently. 

"Then I can decide whether you get a bonus for your troubles." 

"There is something I wanted to discuss with you, my lord Ozzie," Flea replied. 

"If it has to do with money, it can wait." 

"It isn't money I wish to discuss." 

"Then what?," Ozzie demanded, tired of playing guessing games with this vain creature who called herself a magician. 

"Merely a simple little matter of...cowardice." 

"Cowardice?!," Ozzie exploded in shock. A few people truned to see what the problem was. Ozzie hurriedly lowered his voice. "Cowardice?," he repeated in softer tones. "By whom?" 

"By your precious little Janus, that's who," Flea replied matter of factly. "He is a disgrace to our name!"

"I don't believe this load of hog-wash!," Ozzie snapped. "Janus, I know you would never-" He stopped and did a double take, noticing for the first time that the was no longer in the room. 

"Left in view of these accusations, no doubt!," Flea snorted. "It figures. A coward will flee at the first sign of trouble." 

"I knew you were low, Flea, but stooping to this....!" Ozzie left it hanging in the air. "I'd say you were the coward to use this round-about way of taking revenge on the poor boy." 

"Indeed, lord Ozzie. She is right." 

"What?" Ozzie stared at Drek who had finally managed to push his way over to them. 

"Janus didn't do so well out there today." 

Flea pounced on that triumphantly. "You see?" 

"I wouldn't go so far as to say it was an act of cowardice," the Outlaw added with a pointed look at the smug magician, "but it did pose a problem for a while." 

The Mystic leader drummed his fingers on the armrest of his throne. "That bad, huh, Drek?" The spy shifted uncomfortably. The bird-man really wanted revenge on Janus for the way he'd been treated. First losing that shiny medallion then the humiliation afterwards...But, he knew that Ozzie was attached to the slimy urchin and he didn't want to jeapordize the bonus on his way for bringing Janus home in one piece. Still, if there was a way to dispose of the nuisance AND keep the bonus...

"Yes sir, that bad," Drek replied with no further hesitation. "For a while, it looked as if he was totally unable to fight. I thought I might actually have to stick around to defend him." 

"That was what I was paying you to do, GrabbleDrek," Ozzie retorted dangerously. The spy didn't even blink. 

"Begging your pardon, Ozzie, but in the middle of a fight, it's every Mystic for himself. To tell you the truth, the odds were not in our favor when the Knights showed up, despite what some may say. If Janus had suddenly decided to side with the humans, we might have been wiped out completely." 

"You don't think he'd honestly turn traitor do you?" Ozzie feigned that he was appalled by the very idea. In reality, the twisted gears of his mind were working overtime. This was obviously a set up. Either Flea had somehow managed to buy off Drek or they both had reasons for seeing Janus' downfall. Flea's reason wasn't hard to guess. She had always hated the boy. Drek on the other hand...This must have been a personal affront, and recently too. 

"Traitor or not, Ozzie, he is definitely a liability to us," Flea spoke up, determined to get a word in edge-wise. "He's a threat to our goals and our very lives." By this time, other Mystics had gathered around to listen in on their conversation. Pretty soon, almost everyone was nodding in agreement with Flea. Seeing this, she felt confident that she would win this discussion. "He chickened out on us, didn't he boys?," she asked of the assembly. The room muttered a variety of responses. 

"Well, it was his first battle," someone chimed. 

"Maybe we should cut him some slack," another called. 

"So what? He's weak! I saw the whole thing! He kills a human and blubbers like a baby!," a harsh voice rang out. 

"Yeah!," cut in a fourth voice. "If I'm going to fight for this cause of ours, I want reliable comrades at arms, no pansies like Janus who I could never trust to watch my back!" 

"Exactly!," Flea shouted jubilantly. "Janus acted like a coward, didn't he? You all saw it!" The room rallied to her call. Even those who hadn't been present in the battle were joining their voices to the others. "We don't want a human loving coward in our ranks, do we?" 

"No!," the room bellowed back. 

"What should be done about him?" 

"Kill 'im! Kill 'im! Kill 'im!," the Mystic hoards began to chant. Over the din, Flea laughed. Ozzie did not look very happy with the circumstances at all. 

"I think you're blowing this way out of proportion, Flea," he said. Her laughter stopped and she sneered openly at him. 

"What's this? Can it be you're protecting the runt, Ozzie?" The Mystic hoards sensed the tension between the two. Drek backed away slightly. The feeling of two wills creating such friction was decidedly uncomfortable. 

"Of course not, my dear," Ozzie chuckled easily, though his cold eyes belied his anger as he continued. "Why should I defend someone you so obviously despise?" 

"Oh, no reason. I'm glad to hear it. I'm not sure how popular you'd be with everyone if you sided with the enemy on this decision." Flea motioned with her eyes to the crowd behind her. They all looked to Ozzie with faces that showed they would not take kindly to any person who defended Janus. Flea had cleverly backed him into a corner by getting public support. Any move against Flea would result in the lack of support for his leadership, giving the magician yet another card to play when it came time for her to make her move to usurp his position as leader. 

"I propose a challenge, me against the rabbit," she said, reverting back to her old slang term for Janus. "I'm feeling lucky tonight. I'll show to you and the rest of the world just how pathetic he is. And when I do, I'll finally be rid of the brat once and for all!" 

*****

Slash found Janus outside at the top of the fort, looking down from the battlements at the waves that surrounded the island, visible even from this far away, and the hazy smudge of the mainland in the distance. The setting sun shone it's last bloody rays along the horizon, tingeing each white cresting swell pink. The sky above was clear and the stars shone like diamonds scattered over blue-black velvet. Janus let his hands rest on the low stone curtain that spilled a hundred feet to the jagged rocks and brush below that was nearly hidden by the incoming ground mist. Deciding to play a joke on the young man, Slash snuck up behind him and grabbed him in a strangle hold. With a fast movement, Janus grabbed Slash's arm and yanked, tossing the Mystic over the edge of the wall. His back hit the stone and the breath was knocked out of his lungs. The dizzying expanse of open space under his feet prompted him into action. 

"Wait! Janus it's me!," the swordsman shrieked as he dangled over the perilous drop, his wrists, held by Janus, the only thing keeping him from plummeting to his death. For a second, it felt as if the youth might let go. Then with a heave, the young magician hauled Slash up onto solid ground. The swordsman sank to his knees, feeling the urge to kiss the ground in thanks. Glaring up at his pupil, he snarled, "What the hell's the matter with you?! You don't just throw people off the fort like that!" 

"I do when they try to sneak up and strangle me!," Janus shot back. Slash opened his mouth but found he couldn't argue with that. However, a day ago, his pupil would never have been able to pull off a move like that. _The battle today must have really hardened him_, Slash thought. He didn't know weather to be please or irritated. He hadn't been so easily outmaneuvered in at least ten years. The thought that this novice had succeeded where others, more experienced, had failed was not a comforting thought. 

"So, how was your first battle, kid? Was it everything you expected?," Slash asked as he got to his feet, changing the subject to one he was able to deal with easier. Janus went back to staring off into space and didn't answer. Slash chuckled and placed a hand on the youth's shoulder...only to snatch it back as Janus drew away with a snarl, his rusty, blood-stained scythe leaping to his hands as if by magic. The Mystic swordsman hadn't even been aware of it's presence. _You're slipping, Slash_, he thought to himself, a nervous sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. _That's a danger to your continued good health. I trained this whelp too well..._ "Easy kid!," he soothed, raising his hands, palms facing away from him. "Don't get your back up. I wasn't going to do anything this time." 

"I don't care if you were. I'm not about to let you get close enough to have the chance. Don't touch me again, if you value your life," Janus responded darkly, replacing his weapon to his hip. Slash noticed that he had no holster for it and that he merely stuck it through his belt. The young magician's pose relaxed slightly but remained tense, coiled like a snake that is ready to strike upon the first hint of danger. 

"Sure thing, ki...er, Janus," Slash amended hastily. "So spill. How was the fight?" 

"Horrible. Bloody. I hope I never have to go through that nightmare again." 

Slash's mouth dropped. "You mean...we _lost_?!" 

Janus looked at him sharply and frowned angrily. "No. We didn't lose. We slaughtered dozens of the humans as if they were nothing more then sheep." He looked down. "No," he murmured. "I slaughtered them like sheep. I did. Me. Janus...prince of Zeal...Prince of death!" 

"Huh?" Slash was looking at him strangely. Realizing he must have spoken that out loud, he amended his words. 

"Yes, we defeated the humans today." 

"Really? This is great! Of course, Flea will want to rub my nose in her victory." Slash slammed a fist down hard on the low stone wall. "Oooh, that burns me up! I can't believe Ozzie let that scatter-brained peacock go on this mission instead of me. It's not fair! It should have been _my_ victory! Flea will never let me live this down." 

"Oh, Slash! Shut up!," Janus finally exploded. "Who cares about your petty little power trips against Flea? People died today, on both sides! Don't you care about that? It could have been you out there lying on that battlefield today! Not only humans died, but Mystics too, your own people, you fool! Don't you care that your kinsman and your comrades gave their lives today for a stupid cause?" 

Slash took a step back in shock. Never had he seen his pupil in such a fit of rage before. "Well, of course I care. I'm sure they did not die in vain. I'm sure Ozzie will dedicate a plaque to them, or write a speech-" 

"Is that all a life is worth here in this filthy kingdom? A piece of paper or some stupid slab of stone?" Slash moved his mouth like a fish, unsure of how to respond. Janus threw his hands up into the air in disgust and started pacing furiously. "No, of course you wouldn't understand. How could you? You're the same as the rest of them! All you care about is glory and honor for yourself, nothing for anyone else." Trembling with the surge of pent up emotions, Janus stormed away, leaving the baffled swordsman gaping after. 

Entering the fort again, the youth marched towards his room. He shouldn't have stepped out for a breath of air on his way. Now that he did, his emotions were surging again. Before he encountered Slash, they had been covered by an icy layer of calm that had just been melted away by his anger. As he walked, he past a mirror covered with dust. He might have mistaken it for part of the wall had someone not written "Wash me" along it's surface with a finger or claw. Using the hem of his torn and bloodied cape, he dusted the glass off just enough so he could see his face. 

I'm changing, Janus thought absently to himself as he looked at the pale skinned, dark eyed, haunted-looking young man that stared back at him. Even his reflection seemed to hold a look of contempt for him. _I'm not the person I always thought I was. Yesterday, I had a clean conscience. But now..._One gloved hand reached out and traced the reflection he saw. For a moment, he saw himself as he used to be back in Zeal. He had always been so sure of his actions, and while they had not always been right, they had never been bad. No, never really _bad_, not like today. Even as he stared at his reflection, it seemed his vision distorted and it wasn't his face that he was looking at, but Schala's. 

What have you done, little brother? the phantom asked. Janus lowered his eyes, ashamed. His cheeks felt warm and he knew that his humiliation must be showing. 

"I'm...sorry, Schala. I didn't meant to...to do...those...things," he stammered in a choked whisper. "I was so scared...and I couldn't help it! I wanted to run away and hide. I didn't want to be there. But Drek took my amulet, and I didn't...I didn't know..." Now that the words were flowing, his emotions started to break free. His shoulders shook in a silent sob. 

You know that is no excuse, Janus. You have done something very terrible. 

"I know. I'm sorry, Schala. So very sorry!" 

"Janus! Am I glad to have caught you!" 

The former prince of Zeal started at the voice, hurriedly drawing his stained, gloved fingers across his eyes. It was Drek. Slipping out of the shadows with the ease of his trade, he came to a halt in the shadow of his taller companion. "You have no idea how big this place is! I just spent the past ten minutes searching for you. I tried your room, the sparing grounds out in the courtyard, the lab, and I was on my way to the fortress battlements. Boy, am I lucky to have finally run into you! Whew! Why were you up here anyway?" The Outlaw finished his explanation somewhat breathlessly from his apparent exertion. Janus was surprised. Drek had nearly said the whole announcement in one breath. 

"I'd rather not discuss why I choose to go anywhere in this place. It isn't your business anyway." When Drek merely stood and waited patiently, Janus snapped, "I needed some time to think in silence." 

"Ah. Did it help?" 

"It did, a bit. My thoughts are a little more clear." 

"Good, 'cause I have a feeling you're going to need a sharp mind really soon." 

Janus narrowed his purple eyes. Something in the way Drek said that made his skin crawl in dread. "Why were you looking for me in the first place?" 

"Ozzie sent me to find you. He wants an audiance with you." 

"More formalities?," Janus sighed wearily. He raised a hand to rub his eyes in irritation, but recoiled from his hand as he remembered exactly what covered it. He said, "Tell Ozzie that whatever honors he has to bestow upon me he can keep. The last thing I need is to be weighed down with medals and bored to tears by some long droning speech." 

"My, we are vain aren't we?," Drek leered unpleasantly. "I don't think Ozzie has any plans to pin you with gold, my fine moppet. More likely he will brand you instead." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, that Flea has started some very disturbing rumors about you that don't sit well with Ozzie or our fellow Mystics." 

"Flea always talks trash about me. What's so new about that? It will blow over like it always does," Janus replied, dismissing the conversation with a barely concealed yawn. 

"That may be the case, Janus, and for your sake, I hope that you are right." In all actuality, Drek didn't care if the upstart died on the spot. However, Ozzie would be upset and delay that bonus he was sure would be comming his way. Plus, if Flea killed Janus, Ozzie might take it into his head that Drek dispose of her himself and that meant putting his feathery butt on the line. "In any event, Ozzie is awaiting your presence in the throne room." 

"I'm sure he won't mind if I change first. These clothes are a shambles." 

"No!," Drek argued forcefully. "Ozzie wants to see you right now. He mustn't be kept waiting." 

"Oh, very well!," Janus relented at last. The spy nodded and led the way, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure Janus was still behind him. It struck the young magician as nervous. Perhaps it was because of their earlier tiff over his medallion... 

*****

Llana sat in her rocking chair before the hearth, moving back and forth while knitting. It was getting dark out and Cedrick wasn't back yet. That wasn't unusual. Sometimes he stayed late at the castle and conversed with his fellow knights and shared a few drinks before returning home to her. Living outside of the town limits and so far away from the castle made it a longer journey then others might have to travel. Cedrick would be home soon, she kept telling herself. And he would laugh at her fears. 

"Mother? Is father back yet?" 

Llana looked up from her work to smile affectionately at her son. Cyrus gave her a worried look and knelt down beside her. "No, my love. He is not back yet." 

"I hope everything is alright. Remember the smoke we saw? I'm sure something really bad has happened." 

"Now don't go borrowing trouble, Cyrus. I'm sure it was nothing more then some farmer burning his compost heap." She didn't sound very convinced, though. Cyrus sighed and layed his head against the arm of the chair. His mother set her work aside and stroked his hair gently. "Don't fret, my son. It pains me to see you when you're unhappy." 

"I'm sorry, mother." Cyrus closed his eyes and savored the love he felt coming from her. They had always been close. Not like Cedrick. He always kept a distance, especially after Janus was killed. Cyrus never forgave his father for that. Perhaps it was that uneasiness between them that made their lives together so unbearable. At times, Cyrus knew his father was proud of him in a wistfull sort of way that always made him feel confused. Other times, he felt so distant that besides blood ties, they were complete strangers. It was a bitter pill to take. 

Suddenly, a noise caught his ears. Lifting his head he listened intently. Llana opened her mouth to ask what was wrong but Cyrus held up a hand to hush her. There was no noise save for his own heart beat and the crackling of the fire. "I could have sworn I heard horses," he murmured, puzzled. And then, "There it is again! I think it is horses!" Jumping to his feet, Cyrus snatched the small glass lantern off of the mantel and used a piece of kindling to light the wick inside. 

Llana reached out and grabbed his arm. "Cyrus, where are you going?" 

"To go see who it is, of course," he replied, trying to shake his mother's cold clutching fingers from his arm. 

"No, stay inside. Hand me the lantern. I'll go." She reached for the illuminated object, but Cyrus stepped back. 

"Aww, mother! I'm not a little boy anymore. I won't be a moment, trust me." Turning on his heel, he walked to the front door and opened it, peering out into the darkness. At first, he saw nothing. The mist was very thick and dense, as if it had secrets that it wished to conceal. Stepping into the night, he felt a shiver move down his spine. Looking down the road, Cyrus could see two black silohettes weaving in and out of the thick white mist. As they approached, the lantern light revealed the Knight Captain, his armor catching the glow, making it appear as if he were a radiant god, decending from the misty barriers of reality and fantasy. Dismounting from a sturdy war horse, his aid remained seated, his face concealed in a standard metal helmet. He apparently wasn't very high ranking, for he waited for orders. Finally, the superior knight motioned to his companion and he swung his leg over the horse and slid down the side, landing with a soft clank. "Captain, good evening. What brings you this way tonight?," Cyrus asked, confused. 

The gold knight strode up to the door and removed his helmet. His face was weary and drawn from great sorrow and bitter lines creased his mouth. "Is your mother at home?," he inquired softly. Cyrus nodded soundlessly, his eyes getting large with fear. 

"Cyrus, who is it?," called his mother from inside as she came out the door and stood beside her son. She looked first to Cyrus, then to the Knight Captain. Her lips went bloodless. "Something is wrong. You are here about my husband, Sir Cedrick, are you not?" 

"Yes, my lady." Taking a deep breath, the man uttered, "Your husband is dead." Llana swayed in the doorway and would have fallen had Cyrus not supported her. Using the doorframe for balance, she managed to steady herself. 

"Let me see his body," she whispered. Nodding, the knight stepped aside for her to pass. 

"Cyrus, hand me the lantern." The youth obeyed instantly. The captain led her around the horses to the litter they had attatched to the mounts. The aid slid off his horse and reached for the shroud covering Cedrick's body. But Llana stayed his hand with her own. 

"Nay, let me do this. I will only believe if I can truely see for myself." With trembling fingers, the woman drew back the black cloth. 

Cedrick's face was forever frozen in a mask of astonishment and hate, his glazed eyes glaring unseeing at the stars that peeked through the ever-present mist. Though his armor had been cleaned of blood and dirt, the gaping slash in his armor and the single deep puncture where the accelerated knife had pierced him remained. Llana choked and turned away when she saw Cedrick's body, nearly dropping the lantern. Cyrus caught it up and hugged his mother, leading her back into the house, leaving the aid behind to replace the shroud. 

Cyrus helped Llana into her rocking chair again, drawing up another chair beside her to hold her comfortingly as she began to cry. The Knight Captain stood before the stricken family and gave an apologetic shrug. "I am truly sorry for your pain, my lady. It grieves me to see you weeping thus. I wouldst have it be another way, but alas, tis a futile wish on my part." 

"Who...who...?," she managed to mumble through her wracking sobs. 

"T'was a Mystic." 

Cyrus' eyes gleamed with anger. "Was the murderer of my father slain?" 

The gold knight shook his head, casting glitters of reflected fire-light over the floor as his armor moved. "No. T'was no ordinary Mystic he battled, lad. The demon had more magic power then probably even the notorious Flea." 

"Does this monster have a name?," Cyrus demanded. 

"We have taken to calling him 'The Magus' in respect for his abilities. Besides that, little is known about him. He must be a young ambitious Mystic to have suddenly become one of Ozzie's leiutenants." 

"My father's murder must be avenged!" Cyrus leapt to his feet and raised his head proudly. "By right of succession, I am head of the household and therefor eligable to join the ranks of the Knights as my sire would have wished." 

"Cyrus!," Llana gasped, raising her face. "Do not speak foolishly in your anger! You are too young to throw your life away to war and death. Stay with me and-" 

"Mother, someday you will realize that I am no longer a child, but a man. I am able to take care of myself now, as well as you. But first I must prove myself worthy of becoming a knight." Turning to the older man, he gave a look of defiance. "And I know that I am ready for the burden." 

"Your mother is right, lad. Do as she hast said. Stay here and comfort her. Find a handsome wench and raise a family. Do not seek to join our ranks." The Knight Captain looked away and stared into the fire. 

"But, why? I am as fit as any soldier in the army! My courage and honor is surpassed only by my accuracy with my blade," Cyrus replied, indignant. 

"Arrogant words from the hot blood of youth," the golden knight answered with a slightly dry upward curl of his lips. "But it takes more then courage and a good sword arm to be a Knight of the Square Table. It takes honor." 

"Are you questioning my statement? Are you implying that I have no honor?," Cyrus asked in quiet rage. 

"Oh, I have no doubt that you do have honor, my young friend. I have often seen you spar at the castle and I know that you are all you have stated yourself to be." 

"Then what-" 

"It is not a matter of your honor, lad. It is a matter of your father's." 

"Just a moment, sir knight," Llana interjected. "What are you implying?" 

"Your husband, madam, died after performing an act that ill-befitted his honor. He not only tried to kill a defenseless enemy, but he also was prepared to strike an enemy in the back with a dagger like a common thief." The knight spoke solemnly and gravely. He took no pleasure in the news he was imparting. "Cedrick's honor was lost when he committed those acts. It is strictly forbidden in the Knight's Code and he broke those rules. His name is now tarnished." Looking directly at Cyrus, he said, "And so is yours." 

"Surely you cannot hold the boy accountable for his father's actions?," Llana protested, fishing a hanky out of her apron pocket. Dabbing her eyes and nose she said, "Cyrus had no part in this dishonor. Why must he be punished as well?" 

"It does not matter. Though he is noble and a young man worthy of a knight's title, it canst not be. The Knight's Code strictly forbids it." When Llana tried to protest again, the golden knight held up his hand. "No, madame, do not speak. Nothing you canst say will move me. I pity your plight, but 'tis nary a thing I canst do for you. Forgive me, but that is how it is." 

"Then it seems that you have no further business here, with us," Llana remarked cooly. 

"We will not detain you." 

"Lady Llana, I-" 

"Thank you for all you have done for us, Captain. Please leave now." The golden knight had started to raise his hands in a pleading gesture of supplication, but dropped them with a sigh. Bending to one knee, he took Llana's hand in his to kiss it, as was the ritual parting when in the presence of a woman. She withdrew it from his grasp and rose to her feet, brushing past him and into the next room. Seconds later, her soft footsteps were heard on the wooden stairs as she went to her room and shut the door with a faint "click." The Knight Captain remained kneeling for a moment, as if in prayer, and finally got to his feet with a clanking of his armor. He turned to Cyrus, who was sitting by the hearth, knees drawn up to his chest, staring blankly at the floor. 

"For what it's worth, you would have made a fine Knight," the gold captain said. Cyrus looked up at him with pain glazed eyes. The older man cursed himself for such a stupid remark and bit his tongue, lest it betray him yet again. 

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that," Cyrus managed to whisper through numb lips. Seeing that no further words were to be imparted, the Knight Captain nodded sadly and departed. Cyrus never heard as the front door opened and shut as he left. His mind was clouded with the shattered fragments of his once bright hopes and dreams. All that he had sought after and trained for, all the inner struggles that he alone knew of, had become so much wasted time in a matter of moments. 

"Curse, you father!," he whispered, slamming a fist down hard on the stone inlay of the fireplace. The it was warm under his skin. He sat there for a moment, rubbing his hand where the impact had bruised him slightly. Getting to his feet, he went to one of the cabinets and rummaged around till he found a bottle of some hard liquor. Popping out the cork, he took a long swig of the stuff. It burned his throat, brought tears to his eyes, and made him cough, but he wiped his lips on his sleeve and resumed his seat. Maybe getting blissfully drunk would help, he wondered. He'd never had spirits before, since his father and mother had judged him too young. But now... 

Cyrus took another drink. It wasn't so bad when you got used to it, he realized. The more he drank the less feeling he had in his mouth from the initial fiery sting. About an hour or so later, he was still sitting there, with the bottle near empty. It was in this setting that Llana found him. She knew her son was suffering greatly, and his pain would become worse before the night was through. Such things were never easy. 

"Hello, mother," Cyrus said, taking a drink. "Come to join in on the festivities?" 

"Cyrus, what are you doing?" Llana asked quietly. 

"Can't you see what I'm doing? I'm getting drunk." 

"Why?" 

"Why not?," he countered with a grin, laced at the edges with cynism. "I feel the need to celebrate." 

Llana eased herself down into her rocker and leaned forward towards him. "Celebrate what, Cyrus?" 

"Why, everything!," he replied, making a grand, sweeping gesture with the bottle. 

"Father's death, the destruction of my life-long hopes..." He paused and scratched his head in mock thought. "I'm sure I could think of other things as well, but unfortunately, 

I'm a little dizzy right now." 

Llana reached out. "Give me the bottle, Cyrus. Don't do this. Getting drunk will not solve your problems, only amplify them." Cyrus held the bottle close to him protectively and shook his head. 

"No way. This little bottle, here, is the only thing keeping me from thinking about my life and how much I really hate it right now." 

"Maybe you should think about it," his mother replied. Cyrus sighed and gave her his most patronizing look. 

"Don't you get it? I don't WANT to think about it! I'm trying to FORGET the fact that in one feel swoop I am fatherless and disgraced with no way to redeem our name. All my life I have dreamed of the day I could take my place amongst the best as a true Knight of the Square Table and now look at me." Angrily, he gulped down the last of the contents of the bottle and set it aside, fuming. 

"I am looking at you, my son. I see a handsome young man who is capable of doing whatever he sets his mind to." 

"Thanks for the encouragement, but-" 

"Oh, come now, my son. So the Knights are closed to you. There is always a position open for soldiers..." 

Cyrus rolled his eyes and sighed. "Mother, it isn't the same. The soldiers make up the front lines. They're nothing more then sword fodder for the enemy to dispose of. No one talks good about them. They're made up of mercenaries looking for a quick pouch of gold. Criminals who want to earn an early release from prison if they stay alive long enough to enjoy the freedom." 

"And you're in disgrace, so you'll have no trouble being accepted. Listen to me, Cyrus. Start off small. You say that the soldiers have a bad reputation, correct? Well, stand out! Make them notice your talent. Make sure that you survive every encounter and strive your hardest for recognition. You have indeed worked very hard to reach where you are now. This is just another obstacle to cross." 

"Yeah, an impossible one." 

"With an attitude like that, it will be." 

Cyrus raised an eyebrow and half-grinned. "Gee, mom. It sounds as if you almost want me to go off and get killed." 

"Now, you know that isn't true. I hate the idea of you in so much danger. But since you are determined on this course of action, I am trying to help you as best I can." Smoothing her dress, Llana stood up and went to one of the cabinets. She pulled out a copper kettle and filled it with water from the pump that Cedrick had cleverly had installed by Banta, the village black-smith. Placing it over the fire in the hearth, she reseated herself. "First thing I want you to do is drink some tea and then get a good night's rest. Things won't look so bad in the morning." 

"How can you say that? My life will never be the same!" 

"Things change in life, my son," she replied bluntly. "We can't always do what we want or prevent the changes from happening. But you learn to accept it like bitter medicine. Not wallowing in self-pity like you're doing." Cyrus bowed his head. His mother was right, of course. He was not behaving like a Knight in the King's service. But he didn't care. He was too heart-sick to think about anything besides his own misery. 

The tea kettle began to whistle. Llana fetched a mug and poured some dried herbs into it, followed by the hot water to let them steep. She looked at Cyrus sitting on the floor, a dejected lump of bitterness about how cruel the world is. "So, do you intend to sit here all night or will you face this obstacle head-on like your father would have wished you to?" 

Cyrus looked at his mother with a woeful expression. "Leave me alone. You have no idea what I'm going through." At that, Llana's face darkened.

"Very well," she snapped. "Let it be on your head then, Cyrus. Instead of acting your age, you choose to hide in your own sorrow. Well, that is not for me." Sweeping past him, Llana paused in the doorway. "Perhaps it is for the best that you aren't able to become a Knight. You are obviously not cut from the right cloth to be a soldier, let alone a full fledged defender of the kingdom!" So saying, she walked away. Her footsteps echoed through the house as she climbed the stairs and forcefully shut her door. 

Cyrus sulked. "What does she know?," he mumbled. "I'm better then any of them! It's all that Magus' fault!" And indeed it was. If Cedrick hadn't been trying to fight the Mystic off, then he wouldn't have gotten killed. It was Magus who murdered his father and crushed his dreams to become a Knight. And no one could understand that. "Well, I'll show them!," Cyrus promised, eyes flashing. He'd kill that Magus and prove to them that he was just as worthy to be a Knight as anyone else. He'd join the soldiers, he decided, and fight harder then all the rest to be recognized. He'd show to the world exactly what he was made of and rub their noses in it. And when the day finally came when he'd face the Magus on the field of battle, he'd win. It would take hard work, of course, and more training then he'd ever done in his life to even have a chance of defeating such a powerful Mystic. But the sacrifice would be worth it. 

*****

Drek came to a halt in front of the door to the throne room. He stepped to the side and motioned for Janus to enter first. The young magician felt uneasy as his gloved fingers curled around the handle and pulled. The door swung open and he was faced with a rush of silence. No noise could be heard, not even the sound of breathing. There was an air of tense expectation, like before a storm, when just the crackling of the lightning can be felt raising the hairs along the back of your neck. He hesitated in the doorway, examining the faces of the Mystics gathered. They were not looking at him in a particularly friendly fashion. Drek put his hand onto Janus' back and pushed. The youth was forced to take a few steps forward or stumble. The birdman stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

Glaring over his shoulder at Drek, Janus began to walk through the crowd towards Ozzie's throne. The sooner he got this over with, the better he would feel. He was tired and disgusted. All he really wanted to do was go to his room, wash up, and sleep for a thousand years. Of course, that was impossible. He knew there would be nightmares and that no spell or potion would keep them away. 

Janus finally made it over to where Ozzie was seated, his expression grave. Flea stood to the side, smiling in a very smug way, which only made the young man more guarded then before. Already he knew something was amiss by the feeling of the room. However, Flea's attitude only doubled his suspicions. She kept staring at him for an extended length of time, trying to intimidate him, he supposed. So, just to irritate her, Janus purposefully ignored her. "You sent for me, Ozzie?," he asked of the fat green leader. 

Though the Mystic was highly displeased with this turn of events, there was really nothing he could do. Flea had cleverly backed him into a corner and tied his hands so securely, that the wrong move would topple hi from the throne so fast, his head would spin. So, instead of showing the rage he felt, Ozzie kept his face somber, looking like a judge about to pass sentence on a condemned prisoner. "Janus, I have summoned you here because certain rumors..." he looked at Flea who grinned wider, "have led me to believe that during today's battle, you acted in a manner that brings shame to the Mystics." 

"How so?," Janus asked, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back on his left foot, placing the right one forward in a casual pose while he waited for the reply. What had Flea said about him now? 

"Flea, here, has made some serious charges against you. As of now, you stand on trial for them." 

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Janus replied, narrowing his eyes. "Exactly what type of charges is Flea making?" 

"Why don't you ask her yourself?," Ozzie suggested mildly, eager to get the youth's attention off of himself and where it belonged. Janus stared at him a moment blankly as if he hadn't been aware of the other magician's presence before turning to her. 

"Well?," he demanded bluntly. Flea puffed herself up and managed to look down on Janus, even though she was shorter then him. "This better be good, and not the normal garbage you spout at me." 

"Oh it's good," she assured him. Opening her arms to the gathered Mystics as if to encompass them, she asked, "You think it's good, don't you my friends?" There was a grumble of assent mixed with ugly chuckles. They knew what was coming and it wouldn't be pretty. 

"Should we be charging admission to this trial?" Janus looked at Ozzie to do something, but all he got was a mere shrug. 

"If they want to watch, let them watch," Ozzie returned, taking a sip of wine. 

"Unless you have something to hide," Flea added. Janus gave her a sarcastic smile and said nothing. Flea returned the sentiment. "I, Flea, charge you with the act of cowardice in the face of the enemy." 

"What?!," the youth exploded. He looked at Drek, but the Owtlaw was standing by Ozzie's right hand, looking into his own cup of wine. Where he had gotten it, Janus didn't know. But he knew the look of blandness on the feathered face was a carefully arranged facade. "Drek, what did you tell her?" 

Flea grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her. "He didn't have to say anything. We all saw what you did out there. Don't bother trying to look so defensive, Janus. It only adds to you guilt!" Giving a laugh, she started pacing. "The facts against you are plain." She paused and held up her hands like a picture frame. "Picture this, if you will, my dear Mystics and esteemed Lord Ozzie. A fierce battle between the humans and ourselves. Though the forces of the kingdom are falling, so are we. Here enters Janus, sword in hand." She made a bow and pretended to be Janus, stumbling nervously into the battle, sword arm shaking like a leaf in the wind. 

"Along comes a crotchety old farmer waving a pitch-fork. The fool can barely walk, let alone hurt anyone, and yet our illustrious Janus," her contempt was clear as she said this,"showed signs of terror." Raising her hands like quotation marks, she continued. 

"Then, he bravely fought the man off." Flea snorted. "Fought him of indeed. As if he could in his condition. Tears were running down his face, making Janus look more pathetic then he really is, while the old man tripped and fell on his blade. Probably died of a heart-attack!" The room laughed appreciatively. 

Janus was as stoic as a wall of stone. He knew that's not what really happened. He was really fighting for his life out there, even if it had been a farmer. The man was easily defeated, yes, but had he held a sword instead of a tool, the youth would have been hard pressed to match the rush of fury that had soaked the peasant's mind, making him twice as strong as he really was. Janus took no pleasure in his first kill, not that the likes of Flea would understand how he felt. It would be futile to defend himself against her rubbish, since as she had said, it would make him look like he was trying to hide his guilt in bluster. Best to wait out the speech and retreat quietly to his room. Let Flea ramble. It would blow over as it always did. 

"And then, once the deed had been done," Flea was saying, "he fell to his knees crying his eyes out. Drek," she pointed, "being the good comrade that he was, ran over to see if his companion at arms was wounded. And then what did Janus do? He attacked him! Janus attacked a fellow Mystic!" The room growled at that. It was bad enough to show weakness but to willfully attack a fellow Mystic amounted almost to attempted murder. "And now look at him," Flea said, circling around Janus like a cat playing with her mouse. "See how silent he is? Not a word in his defense? It proclaims his guilt!" 

The court began muttering darkly to themselves. Ozzie sat on his throne, chewing a fingernail, frowning like a thunderstorm. Drek finally looked up from his wine and made a toast towards Janus, smirking as he drank. And then, above the noise, a sound could be heard. Clapping. The room hushed and looked at the young magician as he slowly clapped his blood-stained hands. "Charming story Flea. You have it correct down to every detail. But there seems to be something missing." 

"And that would be?," the Mystic in question gloated. 

"Oh, let me think. Yes, I do believe you are missing a vital detail. How about...the truth?" The room made a gasp in shock. He had dared to challenge Flea's word by calling her a flat out liar with his statement. 

"You disagree with what I've said?," she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Can you disprove my story?" The youth tossed aside his cloak and drew his scythe in one fluid motion. 

"Here is my proof!," he whispered intensely. "Let's finish this Flea." The woman magician laughed and drew her own slender sword. Her favorite test was to combine magic with steel so she was bound to enjoy this. 

"Bring it on, rabbit! Anytime you're ready!," she called. Janus nodded. 

"If you so insist. I only hope you are prepared for the Void!" 


	17. MAGUS! Part 4

****

The Story Of Magus Chapter 16 

****

MAGUS! Part 4 

By ZealPropht 

"Oooh, this promises to be one heck of a fight!" Ozzie chuckled to Drek, who handed him another full glass of wine. The spy nodded politely, his mind concentrating more on what was being said between the two combatants then his liege lord. 

"A bit melodramatic, don't you think, Janus?" Flea sneeringly laughed. 

"Perhaps so, but you do get the point!" Janus took three steps which drastically narrowed the distance between them. He made a swipe with his scythe which Flea blocked and jumped away. Janus stooped to a battle crouch and watched as the magician before him ducked and weaved and hopped around, always moving. "Ah, now I see why they call you flea. You move like one." 

"Anyone knows that fleas are hard to kill, and so am I!" There was no warning of her intentions as suddenly a hand shot out and ice crystals, sharp and deadly as knives, sprang from her palm. Janus managed to roll to one side. The unfortunate Mystics crowded behind him, however, couldn't move as fast. They found themselves suddenly encased in a block of solid ice. The movement was extremely painful for Janus, since his wounds were not completely healed from the elixir he'd drunk from Dreck's flask. Flea drove him backward with her sword. High cut to the head. Block. Low cut at the waist. Block. Feint, parry, thrust, parry. Block. The weariness in his body made his arms feel like lead as he swung the scythe, defending more then attacking. Flea lunged forwards, locked swords with Janus, and then, as they grappled to force the other one to step back, she kicked him in the groin. Falling to the one knee, Flea grabbed the back of his head, tangling her fingers into his wild hair and brought his face crashing down on her knee as she rammed it upwards. Reeling back, nearly ripping out the hair she held by the roots, Janus scrambled crab-like to the side. His lower lip was cut where his teeth had bitten down after her knee hit him. Aside from the blaring agony, he would survive. At least his nose wasn't broken. He couldn't just sit there and nurse his wounds, though, so he struggled and was quickly on his feet with a counterattack of his own. Gripping his scythe in both hands, a reddish glow grew around his hands. Lifting one hand over his head, the red glow followed it, growing brighter and brighter. 

"A fire spell, eh?" Flea murmured to herself. "What a dunce!" A blue glow formed around her own hands as she held her sword. With a yell, Janus completed the spell. Waves of intense heat covered the room. The air itself began to boil and seethe, causing small explosions to take place. Several of the Mystics gathered were singed. "Think a measly spell like that can stop me? Take this!" Flea cackled. She aimed her glowing blue blade at the ceiling. Two sheets of ice formed and fell to the ground. The combination of magic from opposite ends of the magic spectrum created friction. The buildup of magic negated each other. The heat became cooled by the ice and the ice vanished in a hiss of steam. 

"That the best you've got, Janus?" Flea taunted. Janus gritted his teeth at her mocking tone. His magic was nearly depleted as it was. He knew that the more spells he cast, the more chance he had of burning himself out, leaving himself completely at Flea's mercy. 

"I was just getting warmed up, so to speak," he answered, forcing a grin. His chest was heaving. Each breath was agony. But he wouldn't show that to his enemy. He'd die before he showed weakness again. Flea rolled her eyes at the bad joke, but appeared satisfied with the answer. Janus' moved stiffly, jabbing his scythe in maneuvers that would have made Slash cringe had he been present. They were rash and desperate. Flea was strong and barely winded, and he was panting. The room seemed to be spinning. Flea took a swing that he knocked to the side, but her returning pass caught him on the ribs. There was a sharp pain and a moment of stillness as the tip of the sword nicked his breastbone before pulling away. A bright line of crimson showed through his shirt. He couldn't let the new wound slow him down, though each indrawn breath was torture. The youth made a swipe at her legs, and as she sidestepped his blow, he angled the blunt end of the scythe upwards. It caught Flea's right wrist. There was a sharp snapping sound and the female magician cried out in pain, dropping her sword. 

Cradling her arm in the crook of the left one, she left her sword where it lay and retreated. Janus followed her. "This is the end, Flea. Time to meet the Reaper." Raising his blade like an executioner, it glowed with power like some gruesome smile. The wounded woman forced a grin. 

"Not yet, pretty boy. The fun has only just begun!" A dagger appeared in her left hand and she ducked under what would have been the killing stroke and caught him high on the left thigh, adding yet another cut to the many that dripped steadily. His clothes were now virtually indistinguishable in their colors. They looked black, and were wet and shiny. Each step left a crimson footprint on the stone floor. 

For a while, they circled drawing closer and closer to each other. It was like a strange dance. There was a deadly grace to the way Janus moved. Flea could see a lot of Slash in her opponent. He had taught the rabbit well. But it would not be enough to save Janus from her power! 

A boost of her wind magic allowed Flea to leap high into the air. Spinning as she landed, she blew Janus a kiss. Janus raised his cape like a shield, even though he didn't sense a magical attack. Still, he was physically knocked over by an unseen blow. It felt like a giant fist smashed into him, forcing him to his knees. The pressure wouldn't let up. 

"Damn it! What did you do to me?" he demanded. Flea laughed long and loud. 

"That was my Chaos Effect spell! Your body now responds to MY commands! Ah, ha, ha, ha!" Flea laughed insanely when Janus stared at her with mounting horror as she snapped the fingers of her good hand and his body rose to it's feet against his will. 

"C'mon now, puppet. Let's play!" 

The pressure on him eased. Thinking Flea had, perhaps, lowered her guard, he jumped at her, prepared to sever her head from her shoulders...only to find his feet rooted to the floor! He fell face first to the ground. His scythe skittered across the floor and out of his reach. The Mystics laughed at him and slapped each other on the back. Flea retrieved her own blade and took her time in walking around him. She poked his back none too gently with it. Laughing, she returned it to it's sheathe at her hip. 

"Aww, did you fall down and go boom?" she asked in mock concern. "Let me help you to your feet!" Jerking her left hand, Janus felt his body respond. He was straightened up so fast, his head spun. There was a soft "clink!" sound against the stone floor a few feet away. Though his body couldn't move, his eyes could. His medallion had been flung off as his body had jerked upright. In frustration, Janus knew there was nothing he could do about it but hope it didn't get blasted in whatever spells Flea was sure to use on him. Flea walked around him, eyeing his battered body, his tattered clothes, the grim set of his jaw and the fire that burned in his eyes. "Did you really think you could defeat me? You are nothing! I am the epitome of all Mystic magic! I taught you everything you know!" She grinned. "Why don't you do yourself a favor and give up? There is no way you can beat me. Admit defeat and I might make your death quick and painless." 

"Go to hell!" Janus spat. Flea slapped him so hard, her own hand stung from the impact. One side of the youth's face was a bright red. His eyes watered briefly from the pain, but he blinked them away. 

"Obviously your mother didn't teach you any manners!" Flea shouted. Janus growled deep in his throat at that remark. "Maybe this will teach you!" With her one usable fine-boned hand, a wave of crackling electric energy surrounded his body. He couldn't move, couldn't even open his mouth to scream. The lightning coursed through his veins like liquid, searing every nerve with it's raw power. Each limb convulsed and spasmed out of control. His legs gave out and he fell onto his side, writhing in the grips of Flea's magic. 

"He's done for, I'm sure of it, sire! Things don't look very good at all," Drek commented. Inside he was cheering, _Way to go, Flea, old girl! Crush him like a bug!_

Ozzie shook his head in silence. Flea couldn't win! Janus had to break free of her spell and fight, or else...or else...Ozzie swallowed hard and mopped his brow. He hated to think what tortures his sub-commander magician would put him through. Looking at Janus' twitching form that glowed with the lightning surging through his body, Ozzie felt bitter disappointment burning his mouth like bile. Clenching a green flabby fist, the Mystic leader cursed under his breath. Was Janus really as weak as what everyone said? Could his own judgment of the boy have been so far off? Janus had to win this battle. He had to! 

Out of the corner of Ozzie's eye, he caught sight of Slash slipping into the room through the double doors. He was almost obscured by the press of bodies as the gathered Mystics crowded around the two combatants. His blue skin gave him away as he pushed his way through the crowd to get a look-see at what the commotion was. When he saw Flea standing over Janus, lightning magic spewing from her spread fingers into his twisting form, he gave a brief frown. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but he was almost positive that this wasn't a simple quarrel between the two 

__

I must...not...give in! I must try and...defeat her...spell over me! Janus' mind raced with these thoughts as he struggled to move his hands, to think of a shield spell, of a counterattack he could use to stop the electric energy Flea was pouring into him. He waited for any distraction to give him opportunity enough to break free of her control. Janus wrapped his mind around the core of magic lodged in his being from Flea's Chaos Effect. In his imagination, Janus could almost visualize a sharp-pointed rod of energy buried in his soul, forcing him to obey Flea's will. Despite the pain, Janus managed to imagine his own vibrant magic wrapping around the rod, tugging it, twisting it, loosening his attacker's power on him. Flea was not unaware of her spell being tampered with. She tried increasing the outflow of her lightning magic to draw Janus' focus away from the magic rod, but he would not be distracted once his mind was set on a goal. 

With a final jolt of magic, Janus gained a solid grip around the rod and pulled it free. Instantly, the glowing spear grew brighter and then dissipated like a snuffed candle. "No!" Flea howled. "That's impossible!" She could feel the tingle moving through her mind as her spell lost it's effect. Her concentration lost, the lightning sizzled once more and was gone. From his place on his throne, Ozzie sat a little straighter, beady black eyes narrowing. What was this new turn of events? 

"That spell was perfectly cast! There should have been no way you could break it!" Flea was screeching. Janus groaned softly and struggled to his knees. It felt like a million bees buzzing in his head. 

"But I did break your spell, and I will do so a hundred-thousand times if need be." 

Placing a hand on his knee, Janus pushed himself to his feet, staggering a little as the aftereffects of being so brutally attacked made him dizzy and faint. Using a hand to push aside the long blue curtain of hair that hung in his face, he lifted his head proudly. "You can damage my body, you can drain my magic. But you can never destroy my will to live. And because of that, Flea, you will _never_ defeat me! _EVER!_" 

He turned his head...and felt ill. Schala's medallion was gone from where it fell on the floor. A red haze fell over his eyes and all control snapped. Praying to every deity he had ever heard of to lend him the strength for what would probably be the last spell he would ever cast, Janus closed his eyes and chanted. "Born of darkness, you who heed the Reaper and his minions, grant your humble servant the strength to destroy all fools who stand before the powers you and I possess!" A purplish glow surrounded his body. Flea, realizing that he was about to cast some heavy duty spell, called forth every spell she could think of to distract him. But each time, her magic was repelled by that unusual glow. 

Janus, deep in his meditative pre-casting state, felt the chilling touch of the Black Wind and heard the faint cry of Lavos. From somewhere deep inside his being, a well of black Mana was forming, growing bigger and bigger by the second. Raising his hands above his head, he risked casting a shield spell before releasing the biggest spell he had ever created. "Shadow Lance!" he cried, directing all the magical energy pent up within him at Flea. From his hands, a beam of purple light with black electricity crackling around it shot at the stunned Mystic magician. 

"What? This is IMPOSSIBLE! I can't be defeated so easily!" she screamed. Flea tried to raise a magic barrier, but Janus' spell went right through it. The Mystics behind Flea scrambled to get out of the way and lucky for them they did. The blast slammed Flea into the stone wall with stunning force and didn't stop there. There was a cracking sound and suddenly, a huge hole appeared. The magic tossed the female magician outside. Her body went tumbling for several yards before laying still, surrounded by particles of rock. 

For a moment, no one moved. They all simply stared out the hole in the wall at Flea's scorched and silent form. Slash was shaking his head, eyes wide, his mouth moving silently. He took a step...and another...and another, before breaking into a run. He was so shook-up that he didn't even bother with the normal levitation spell he always used. He swept past Janus as if he wasn't there and crawled over the rubble. With growing panic and shock, the swordsman barely felt where sharp-edged rocks cut his hands and knees. His boots skidded on the loose rocks and he slipped more then once before reaching Flea. Kneeling down beside the female Mystic, Slash wrung his hands over her, biting his lower lip. She was face-up, her eyes wide and sightless...and she was alive. "By the darkness...," Slash breathed in horror. "Oh, Flea...What did he do to you? Can you hear me, baby? Flea?" A spell of that magnitude should have killed her instantly, and yet, she survived. A shiver went through her body and she screamed. It was a thin, pathetic sound. She began to twitch and sob and scream at things only she could see. Janus' spell had completely shattered her mind. She had survived, only to become a prisoner of her own dark imagination. Slash looked at her in a mixture of disgust, pity, and perhaps a little bit of what could have been compassion in another person. 

Gently, he touched her forehead and she whimpered. He slipped his arms under her and lifted her slight form with ease. Her head rested against his shoulder and he could feel her shaking. Now he used his levitation abilities as he floated over the rock pile and back into the room. No one had moved. They were all watching him and the gibbering Flea. Some began to shake their heads and mutter to each other about the power Janus had used against her. Slash floated up to the youth and held out Flea's form. "Would you care to finish what you started?" he asked harshly. Janus refused to answer. Slash pulled the defeated magician against himself again and faded in a glare of white light. All eyes looked to Janus. 

He stood trembling with exhaustion. He had been drained of all color. His skin was a chalky white that made his purple eyes seem like two empty sockets. Slowly, he looked up towards Ozzie's throne. The fat Mystic leader was beaming. He knew he'd been correct about Janus. Flea was out of the way now and Slash wouldn't make a move against him as long as she was out of commission. The smile died on his lips, though, when the scorching emptiness in Janus' eyes met his own. Suddenly, Ozzie wasn't exactly sure if this victory had been a good idea after all. But the dark gaze wasn't meant for him, though. No. It was meant for the feathered figure that stood by the throne, yet out of Ozzie's vision. Drek had slipped in and out of the battle with all the ease of his trade and had snatched the medallion Janus coveted so much from it's position on the floor. He was holding it now in his hand with a mocking look on his beaked-face. 

"Lose something?" he mouthed with a smirk. The expression on Janus' face didn't change as he raised a hand and pointed at Drek. The Outlaw's eyes widened and he felt a mite less sure of himself as he stood there, so vulnerable. He hadn't counted on Flea losing the battle, since everything had seemed in her favor. Facing this pillar of strength was not very pleasant. Of course, Ozzie would never yet him come to harm, Drek assured himself. 

"Give...it...back." The words were a raspy whisper as they left the young man's throat. Drek weighed the consequences. 

Ozzie, looking over his shoulder, saw what Drek was holding and glared. "Drek! Give it back to Janus at once." 

"Yes, sire," the birdman sighed. Walking forwards, he held out the amulet. Janus slowly took it from the Mystic's grasp and replaced it around his neck and under his tunic. Drek turned and started walking back towards the throne. 

"Hey, Drek. I have a message for you." 

The Outlaw stopped and looked over his shoulder. "And what might that message be, Janus?" 

"Remember my face on your journey to the underworld." Before Drek could utter a sound, a black hole formed from out of nowhere and engulfed him. There was one terrible drawn out scream and then silence. The dark cloud slowly lifted and all that was left was a mess on the floor. Ozzie turned a pastel green as he blanched and felt his stomach heave. His mouth worked like a fish caught on land. 

"You killed him! You just...obliterated him!" was the strangled statement that escaped the Mystic leader's throat. 

With a menacing look, Janus swept the stricken Mystics with a baleful gaze. "Let that be a warning to any who dare make accusations against me that are false or to lay hands on my property." Spinning on his heel, the young man headed for the double doors to exit the room. The crowd parted hurriedly. No one wanted to get in his way. 

"Uh, Janus....?" 

He paused at the door. 

"Uh, we...Uh, that is, I have some things I'd like to discuss with you." 

"Not now, Ozzie." The doors opened without Janus having to touch them. A mere look was enough. Ozzie coughed and looked uncomfortable. It was one thing for the boy to beat up his sub-lieutenant and kill his favorite spy, but it was another matter to ignore a un-stated command to stay. 

"Janus, I know you have been through a lot of ordeals, today, but I really would like to talk to you about-" 

The magician's head snapped around. Ozzie choked on what he was saying. In a dangerously soft voice, Janus repeated, "I said, _not now!_" With no further words, the youth left the room and was around the corner before two heartbeats had past. Once he was out of sight, the room burst into activity. No one was silent as they discussed the awesome powers they had seen displayed during the battle and Drek's untimely demise. 

"Well, paint me pink and call me a human!" 

"Totally unbelievable display!" 

"Flea was snuffed like a candle!" 

"Only a Magus..." 

"A Magus!" 

"Of all people, who would have guessed _Janus _to have been a _Magus_ is disguise!" 

Ozzie reclined back in his seat and rocked back and forth in his throne. It creaked dully against the din, but he didn't hear it. He was staring at the grisly remains of his feathered lackey. The smell of burnt chicken filled the air, along with sulfur and other more unpleasant smells. _Yes, who indeed would have thought_, he mused. _A Magus in my midst and I didn't see it. More likely Flea didn't cultivate his slumbering talent. She merely ignored it to appease my whims. _Looking at the still open double doors, a sardonic smile played across his flabby lips. _This is an unexpected ace up my sleeve. I can use this to my advantage._ Laughing out loud, Ozzie raised his untouched glass of wine Drek had give him earlier in a salute to the departed young man. "All hail the conquering hero," he said, and drank deep.

*****

Janus reached his sparse room in record time, since it was on the other side of the fort. The door slammed open with a look and slammed shut the same way. The first thing that happened was that he was violently ill in the chamber pot. Then he gave in to extensive trembling. "Damn you all!" he whispered, leaning against the wall in a corner and sliding down till his knees reached his chin. "What have I become?" Hugging them, he laid his face against his knees and concentrated on blocking the images of the day from his mind. Words drifted in his brain like noxious wind. _Murderer_, they said. _Monster! Coward!_

Covering his ears, he curled his fingers around them as if to rip them from his head entirely.

_MURDERER! MONSTER! COWARD! _

"No, it isn't true!" he whispered, shaking. But it was true. He was a coward, one who could not face what he had become. He was a murderer. The faces of those he had slain in battle came back to haunt him, their mouths wide and crying for his eternal damnation for his sins. They were coming for him. He could feel their chill touch on his hair and arms and neck...and somehow, he was no longer in his room, but on the edge of the parapets of Ozzie's Fortress. 

He looked down at the mist below that blotted out the ground. It would be so easy to step off of the battlements. The voices would stop forever. He'd be free. He'd be away from all the pain and fear and loneliness. One step, that's all it would take. Just one little step... His weight shifted and one foot rose over the expanse of air. But the final step never fell. He couldn't do it. Cursing himself for three times the coward, he hopped down from the windy turrets, back onto solid footing. "I see how it is, oh noble prince," he sneered at himself in open disgust. "You can take the lives of innocents yet you cannot take your own tainted soul and send it to the fires that surely await it." 

Murderer! Coward! 

Janus lifted his face from his knees, realizing he must have nodded off from sheer exhaustion, and he looked up and out of the small window at the stars. No, he had not the strength to take his own life. But he was a monster of his own creation, a sin darker then the night, and whether he could live with that fact or not would remain to be seen. 


	18. Old Friends, New Rivals

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 17**

**Old Friends, New Rivals**

By ZealPropht 

_Two years have passed since the Mystic raid on Truce. The damaged homes have been repaired and the wounded are healed. But the memory lives on, burning in the minds of the men and women who live there, fueled by their fear and anger. Around them, a war rages. The Humans have not taken this affront lying down. Gathering their most able bodied men, the ranks of the Knights swell, but not nearly enough to outmatch the Mystic forces. The bloody path the Magus leaves behind after each battle is more than enough to deplete the Human armies. The knights have come to dread going into battle, much more than ever before, each one knowing that they might encounter the pale Mystic captain with his flashing scythe and powerful magic attacks. Yes, two long years pass have passed..._

_  
And yet, despite the horror and death surrounding them, the Humans are still able to enjoy some small glimpse of hope and happiness. The King of Guardia has chosen a bride. She is a lovely young woman from a distant province. Her brother is serving in the army. Her name is Leene, soon to be Queen of all Guardia, though everyone already acknowledges her as such. And on an even lighter note, a Hero has arisen! He is strong and virtuous with a heart of compassion and a driving need to eliminate the evil from the land, starting with the Mystic hoards. But more importantly, he has declared that he will not rest till the scourge known as the Magus is defeated..._

_* * * * * _

_  
_"So, a Hero has been born, eh?"

Slash nodded his head. "Yes, Lord Ozzie. I was not able to determine his name, but he is apparently a great warrior who has impressed many of the sub-commanders under the Knight Captain." The blue swordsman paused. "He also defeated your cousin and won back the Hero's Medal."  
"WHAT?!" Ozzie exclaimed. Slash hastily dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Are you saying that the Frog King has been slain? The Lord of the Mires, the Emperor of the Swamps, my COUSIN?!"

"Not slain, my lord. He managed to escape with his life, but the Hero's Medal was forfeit in the battle."  
Ozzie sank down into a pile of cushions and rubbed his temples. They were in his private audience chamber with it's deep feather-filled cushions and plenty of snacks and wine for him and his guest to stuff themselves with. Since Drek's untimely demise, the Mystic leader had been forced to rely on Slash to do his scouting for him. He couldn't be trusted the way Ozzie had trusted Drek, but the swordsman was more reliable then the bumbling Henchs or the sly Naggettes. "So tell me, what is this so-called hero like?"

"That I can't say."

Ozzie stopped rubbing and looked at his kneeling lieutenant with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Only what I have said. I did not see this hero for myself, though many speak of him."

"Hmm." Ozzie rubbed his chins thoughtfully. "This is disturbing news. Could this Hero be a ploy to get us to act rashly in an attempt to thwart their plans?" Slash didn't answer and it was just as well. Ozzie hadn't really expected any sort of reply from the man. Drek would have been able to tell him all he had wanted to know. That bird had really known how to do his job well! Too bad Slash was too much of an idiot to be a good spy.

"A Hero, huh? Well, I hope this one is more of a challenge then the people I've been facing lately."  
At the sound of that low, sarcastic voice, Ozzie nearly jumped out of his skin. "Damn you, Janus. How dare you come into my private rooms without permission!" Walking so smoothly that his cape barely moved, the young man came up to the seated Mystic leader and bowed.

"Ozzie, you should know by now that I will come and go where and when I please." Ignoring the waiting decanter of wine at his elbow, he seated himself and instead conjured up a glass of cold water with a twist of lemon in it. Tossing it back with gusto, he drained the contents of the glass and spit the lemon rind back into it before setting it aside.

"Hmph! Fine words for a child," Slash growled, moving from his kneeling position into one of the cushions. "You should respect your elders."

"And you should learn to respect your betters."

"I will if I meet one."

Janus snorted. "I am the Magus. How much better can you get?" Slash ground his teeth together at the man's arrogant tone of voice. 

"You don't really believe all the propaganda our troops are spreading, do you?" Janus didn't respond. Slash shook his head. "Sweet Darkness! And here I thought you actually had some brains."

"Gentleman, gentleman, please!" Ozzie reproached as Janus smiled evilly and started reaching for his scythe. "Slash, lay off the boy! He has done us a lot of good these past two years. Does it really matter if Janus has a nickname? At least it keeps those Human scum in line." Slash hesitated, then nodded reluctantly in agreement. Ozzie noted that Janus still hadn't removed his hand from the pommel of his weapon. During the past two years, he had proven himself a daring and powerful warrior. Despite earlier protests that he would never again fight for the Mystic army, Ozzie's prodding had finally managed to convince the young man that the more he killed, the easier it would become. Janus still looked on the thought of killing with revulsion, however. Yes, the murders, as he saw them, became easier with each fresh victim until he barely hesitated in a confrontation. He tended to avoid a one-on-one battle if he could help it. Janus much preferred to stay in the back and toss his magic into the fray. This damaged not only the Human armies but the Mystic troops as well. Not that he cared if his side lost. It didn't matter if he hurt the faceless masses. It was seeing a face before his, screwed up with anger, then watching the anger melt into fear and pain as his magic or blade severed their link to the living that he hated. After each battle, his nightmares would grow more vivid and terrifying. Many times in a cold sweat, he'd awake screaming in Ozzie's arms. Janus could never bring himself to turn away from the small amount of comfort Ozzie would offer, in between begging the young man not to accidentally blow up the castle in his delirium. 

Those moments of weakness made Janus hate himself and hate Ozzie for catching him with his inner barriers down. But in the darkness, a darkness that was and was not Lavos, with the screams of his victims ringing in his ears and their bloody faces leering at him, those small, flabby, green arms holding his shaking body tightly were a welcome relief. He would rest his head against Ozzie's shoulder and clench his teeth to fight back the hysterical sobbing that choked his throat. Through the layers of blubber, the steady drum of the Mystic's heart, slightly agitated by his concern, would drown out the screams he could still hear. The gentle way Ozzie would rub his back and whisper meaningless words about how it would get easier with each new kill comforted him. Ozzie was living, a life-vest in a sea of blood that flooded his mind in which he was drowning. After the shaking subsided, Ozzie would push Janus back down against the pillow, wiping the sweat from the young magician's face with the sleeve of his robe, and cover him up again with blankets. In the singsong words of magic, he would lull Janus into a deep, healing sleep, one mercifully free of dreams.

The next morning, Janus would be so terribly cold towards everyone. Standing near him, one would actually feel a chill to the air that was not entirely a figment of one's imagination. He would always make a vow that he would no longer fight in this war for the Mystic's cause. But Ozzie's cajoling always won out in the end. It would be good for him, Ozzie had said, and would raise the moral of their troops while weakening the courage of the Human warriors. Even Slash had added that it would help the training Janus had received, since using a scythe was different then using a sword. The blue swordsman hadn't been too thrilled when Janus stubbornly insisted that he would keep the rusty farming tool as a weapon. 

"It just fits so easily in my hand," Janus had stated, giving the scythe a few swings. 

"A sword is easier to handle, though," Slash had grumbled in response. "You have more control of the movements it makes. There is less drag because the blade is thinner than with a scythe. The flat of the blade isn't fighting against you as badly. Besides, a sword is much more elegant." Janus had merely scoffed. He didn't want elegance, he had said. He wanted a weapon that wouldn't force him to hack at the enemy to accomplish his goal. 

"Well, whether it keeps the Humans in line or not, your precious Janus seems to believe that what everyone is saying is true," Slash muttered, snapping everyone back to the present. Ozzie merely shrugged.

"Who would dispute his claim to that name?"

"No one, and I would deeply appreciate you not speaking of me as if I wasn't here," Janus said softly. Ozzie looked flustered and quickly patted the young man's arm.

"Of course, my dear boy. We didn't mean to give offense. Sometimes, Slash and I get carried away in an argument and we ramble." As Magus' gaze coldly stared at the hand the Mystic had dared lay on the magician's arm, Ozzie snatched it back and wrung it nervously as if it had been burned by the contact. 

"So, what are we going to do about this self-proclaimed hero walking the land?" Slash drew out a dagger from somewhere on his person and tested the edge before carefully cleaning his fingernails. "I don't like the idea of some idiot out there stirring up the stinking masses into thinking they have a chance of defeating us." Magus snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.

"According to your own report, this person has already defeated your forces several times. It seems to me, you might want to turn command of the field over to someone more competent if you can't handle it yourself," he stated bluntly. Slash turned dark purple as blood rushed to his cheeks in anger.

"Are you saying I'm unfit to lead the Mystic armies into battle?" the blue man sputtered. The hand that clenched itself around the dagger he held trembled in barely contained fury as he resisted the urge to plunge nine inches of cold steel into the youth's left eye. "You had best watch your words, kid. Greater men then you have died for less."

"Down boys!" Ozzie chuckled. "As much as I'd like to see you two go at it one on one, I'm afraid you're both far too valuable to me alive right now." Looking thoughtfully at Magus, he rubbed his triple chins. "Since you expressed so much interest in this particular subject, perhaps you'd be willing to go on a scouting mission for me."

"I told you last time, Ozzie. I'm not helping you out with this war anymore. You want something done, use your lackeys like Slash to do your dirty work. Or send pathetic wretches like Flea who are expendable. It would be a mercy if she were to be killed, anyway. Send a useless creature like her to gather your information, but leave me out of it."

There was a strangled cry which was the only warning that Magus had to prepare himself for the attack. Slash bowled him over and had the dagger poised above Janus' heart. "Bastard! Take it back! You made Flea the way she is today!" the blue-skinned man screamed in rage. One hand was locked around the magician's throat, choking the life out of him while the other sought to stab the dagger deep into the other man's chest. Ozzie reached out with his mind and wrapped his power around Slash, pulling him off and holding him immobile. He held out a hand to Janus who slapped it away.

"I'll eat his liver for breakfast!" Magus choked out between coughing and gasping for breath. He made a lurch towards the frozen Slash who growled. 

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Ozzie's sudden temper was not uncommon, but the force of power he suddenly excreted made two sets of eyes give him a look of respect. "You two are like rams, butting heads at every turn with no regard for the feelings of others! What about me? I don't want to sit here and listen to this bickering. We're in the middle of a war, gentlemen. Infighting amongst ourselves will not assure us a long rule over the Humans." He looked at Janus who was rubbing the livid finger marks Slash had left on his pale throat. "Magus, this is an order. Go out there and find me that Hero these humans are speaking of. I want as much information as you can find. Now go."

"As you wish, Lord Ozzie." The cutting edge in Janus' voice told Ozzie that he wasn't thrilled about being ordered to do something, let alone the type of assignment it was. The arrogance in the magician couldn't stand to take orders and Ozzie considered the command to be a suitable punishment for the headstrong young man. Bowing, Magus wrapped himself in his cape and vanished without so much as a ripple in the air to tell he'd ever stood in that spot. Looking at Slash, he walked up and poked a finger in his chest.

"You idiot! Why do you keep baiting him like that? Don't you realize that you're toying with a player out of your league?" Ozzie snarled. Slash could only blink angrily and make inarticulate sounds of rage, frozen as he was. His eyes said what his voice could not. _I can take him! In a fair fight, I could beat him!_ "You're so stupid, Slash," Ozzie remarked acidly, releasing the warrior from his spell. As if reading the blue man's mind, he said, "Flea was the toughest and meanest Mystic I have had the occasion of knowing and even she wasn't a match for the Magus. What makes you think that you, with almost no magic at all, could even stand a chance against the likes of him?"

"I'm not so weak as you might think! My swordsmanship is beyond compare! That boy won't stand a chance against _me_!"

"Are you blind or do you just refuse to acknowledge the truth? Your sword skills won't mean a thing in a one-on-one confrontation with Magus! I doubt that he'd even let you draw Slasher from it's scabbard before he'd send you to the next dimension." Taking a breath to help calm himself, Ozzie couldn't resist the last jab. "And there are worse things then death, Slash. Remember what happened to Flea, after all."  
Slash bit his lip and cast his eyes down. Those words hurt and Ozzie knew it. While Flea and the warrior had never been what humans would call an "item," they had a sort of love-hate relationship that let them work well as a team as well as be occasional lovers. Their ambitions were the same. Both Mystics wanted to be Leader of the Hoards but there was an almost friendly rivalry between them. Each one knew that a knife in the back would not be taken as a personal offense, only as another maneuver to get ahead in their political chess match. Such a move would even earn the other "player" the respect from their partner player. It was expected. The more intricate the scheme, the greater the humiliation or fall from favor, the greater the "score" to the player who had caused it. It was all one very big, and rather enjoyable, game to the two Mystics. At least, it had been...

Then Flea had gotten obsessed. The game had taken a deadly serious turn when Janus had entered the picture. She hated him with a passion and wanted him dead. It was because of that obsession that she was now a mad wretch of a woman. Her insanity was not one of a violent or psychotic kind, but one where she constantly replayed the instant of her failure to defeat Janus in a battle of magic. The secret force that all magicians wielded was her life. She had trusted in it to get her through anything. But that trust had been betrayed, leaving a wound greater then anything a human or Mystic could inflict. Her magic hadn't been enough to defeat _him_ and that betrayal was what had shattered her mind. Not any physical attack, but the spiritual demise of a belief.

Ozzie watched the various emotions play across the swordsman's face, though the other Mystic was trying to keep them hidden. The fat green leader had a strong point which was his ability to read people like a book. He wouldn't have stayed alive so long in his harsh world if it hadn't been for this unique gift. It had helped him tell who his friends and supporters were and who would sell out on him at a moment's notice. Right now, Slash was as clear as crystal. Talking about Flea had put him back in his place, reminding him who was in charge here and that Magus, while still a force all to himself, was also a weapon Ozzie could unleash at any time. Still, Slash had never been one at open rebellion before. He had always left that up to Flea. Ozzie knew he would have to be twice as cautious now as when he had dealt with the female Mystic. He had years experience under his belt from competing with her for the throne. He knew all her tactics. Slash, on the other hand, was new to the game, as far as Ozzie was concerned, and he had no idea how this blue man worked. What were his styles of intrigue? A knife between the ribs in a dark hallway? Strangulation? Poison?

"If that will be all, my lord, may I be excused?" Slash asked, interrupting his superior from his thoughts. Ozzie waved a hand in vague dismissal and cocked his head as Slash bowed and vanished from sight in a white light that dimmed the torches of the room. Perhaps he should employ a taste-tester for his food...  


* * * * * 

The ground mist clung to his boots like pale, dead hands as he walked. Each time he moved, tendrils would tear off and merge again with the rest. _Like the ghosts of the dead that can never be at rest until Magus is destroyed_, he thought. _They are pleading with me to put an end to their suffering. They want me to draw my sword and ease their pain with one swift stroke to the neck of that villain._ Taking up his lookout position under a tree, Cyrus used his ragged cape to fan away the mist that was still creeping after his wake. _Take comfort, wandering souls. Soon you shall be at rest. This solemn vow I pledge to you._

"Thinking morbid thoughts again, Cyrus?"

The young soldier didn't jump at the voice, even though it had snuck up on him with such stealth that, had it belonged to an enemy, he would have been dead by now. "I guess you could say that, Glenn." He looked with affection at his younger friend. Glenn was small, barely up to his shoulder, and looked comical in armor that was too big for him. His forest green hair was brushed back from his face and tied with a leather strip. A few economical braids were woven in as well. When let down, his hair fell in soft waves down his back with an almost feminine look. His face was youthful, without a hint of stubble that so prominently marked Cyrus. Days on the battlefield had a way of disrupting his normal habits of bathing and the like. But despite the dust and scratches from battle that covered them both, Glenn's boyish good-looks shone through like sunlight from behind rain clouds. Cyrus, on the other hand, while still retaining his handsome demeanor, had a new coldness about him, one that made him look older then what he was. His face was matured by grief and the ravages of war. Yes, he smiled affectionately at his younger companion, but it was a sad smile, one that longed for his own youth again and for the boy who stood beside him, wasting his own childhood on this stupid war as well.  
"What are you doing, standing here alone with naught but specters for company?" Glenn reprimanded him. "Come. Warm thyself by the fire and partake of some hot broth. 'Tis rich with beef stock and vegetables and will surely warm thy soul as well as thy innards."

"Maybe later," Cyrus told him, leaning his head back against the tree trunk. "I'm on watch right now."

"Ah, I see." With a resigned sigh, Glenn plopped down on the ground. "Then I shall stay and keep thee company and we shall take our watch together." Cyrus couldn't help but chuckle silently. The fancy, old-fashioned way Glenn spoke had always reminded him of his father. He spoke so charmingly that it was hard to find fault with the boy. The smile faded on the older warrior's lips. Boy. He was only twenty years old, three years older then Glenn, and he already thought of Glenn as nothing more then a child. _War changes people_, he mused, looking up at the stars._ It makes them into people we don't know. It's frightening. Have I really aged so much? My spirit feels like lead inside me. Whatever happened to the enthusiastic child I had once been? It's only been two years and yet it feels like two hundred..._

"Lost in thought again, I see." Glenn laughed a little and rested his hand on his sword hilt to reassure himself of it's presence. Suddenly he blurted, "I feel so strange."

"Do you? Why?"

"Remember that talk we had, on the bridge?"

"Yes. What about it?" 

"I was remembering our conversation. I was thrilled when you said you were off to join His Majesty's army." 

"Oh, yes. I remember that. And I told you that I thought you should enlist too."

Glenn nodded slowly. "That you did. I was thinking, earlier, about how odd it all seemed. I said I did not think I could be able to stand hurting people and yet, here I am."

Cyrus pushed himself away from the tree and took a few steps forwards. "I was a fool. I should not have asked you to join. I was weak. I wanted revenge on the person who had stolen my dreams from me and splashed mud on my father's good name." He lowered his head. "But...I did not want to face the winding path alone. Ever since my...friend...died, I had been in mourning. Your friendship and that of Leene's brother have made this dark trip bearable. For that, I owe you both a greater debt then any I could ever hope to repay."

"Do not give it a second's thought, Cyrus. 'Tis friendship given freely and unconditionally. We admire you and trust you, not only as our companion at arms but as a mentor and leader." Pausing, Glenn scratched the back of his head in awkward silence. "Forgive me. My tongue often speaks what is in my heart and not what is in my head." Cyrus looked over his shoulder at the boy and fixed him with a quiet stare. There was sadness in those eyes, eyes too old to belong to someone so young.

"Don't lose that innocence Glenn. No matter what you do in this war, no matter what you see, if you value our friendship at all, don't ever lose that ability to say what you feel. Once you lose it, you will never find it again." Glenn gave him a sympathetic look. It hurt to see how the boy who used to stand up for him against bullies, who used to gently tease him about his hair and girlish looks, who taught him how to sword fight had become this bitter replica of what Cyrus once was. All he could do was nod mutely and extend silent comfort as he stood and departed, sensing that his friend probably wanted to be left alone now. Cyrus heard him go but he didn't call after him to stay. Not only did he need the time to clear his thoughts, but watches were best performed alone. There was less chance of distraction to miss something, like the sound of a light footstep on a dry leaf, heavy breathing that was trying to be concealed, or the jingle of mail under a cloak that could all mean an enemy was approaching.

Drawing his sword, he sat down on some exposed roots and leaned his back against a tree, setting the naked blade across his lap, careful not to let it catch any light and give away his position to whatever could be out there. He had always hated standing watch. It was lonely and tense. While others in his unit might have found it to be merely boring, Cyrus knew the danger of letting the monotony get to you, causing you to lower your guard. He was lucky to be out here, anyway, on the battle field that he had so longed to see. All that time of hard work to impress his commanders had paid off when he had finally decided to go after the Hero's Medal which had been lost for many years to the Frog King and his lackeys. The amphibian lord was rumored to be a distant relative to the Mystics. All the slimy, lowlife scum in the kingdom stuck together it seemed. Winning the Medal back hadn't been too hard, as a matter of fact. It was a mystery why no one had tried to take it back sooner. Glenn had been with him at the time, he remembered. The boy had fought bravely against the toads and other reptiles that had besieged them. It was more butcher's work then anything, since there were so many unarmed amphibians attacking them, hoping to overwhelm them with their numbers. And all for a shiny bit of metal, he thought ruefully. 

While his mind toyed with that memory, his hand uncontiously went up to his right breast where the Hero's Medal itself was pinned to his armor. The royal crest of Guardia was emblazoned on the front. Underneath that very spot, protected under his breastplate and over his heart, was a silk handkerchief that Leene had given him before he'd come out here to the front and in gratitude for returning the Hero's Medal to the royal family. The King had been so ecstatic that he had proclaimed Cyrus a true Knight of the Square Table, an honor that he could scarcely believe. He had regained the family honor, at last. And yet, even this news couldn't outshine the radiance of his Queen. 

He could still imagine the smell of her perfume and the way his heart had beat like thunder in his chest as she had reached into the bodice of her gown and removed the square of material with her initials on the corner. Their hands had touched briefly as she had handed it to him and even though he had been wearing the standard battle gloves of all soldiers, it felt as if he had touched some alchemist's rod that was charged with electric energy. "Take this small token of Our esteem," she had said in her soft, musical way that always had a way of making his breath catch and his knees weak. The way she inserted the "Royal We" into the sentence was not in the least condescending. He had carefully folded the creme colored silk and placed it inside his mail shirt, fully aware that the Chancellor was glaring at him with impotent fury. It was a mark on his private scorecard that he had managed to one-up the old man in the Queen's eyes. Cyrus had dropped to one knee and taken Leene's hand in his, bowing over it. "Go with Our blessing, Sir Cyrus," she had continued, smiling. Nothing could have compared to her perfection at that moment and as his lips reverently placed a chaste kiss on the back of her hand, her perfume once again washed over him from her inner wrist. Later, in the privacy of his room in the knight's barracks, he had removed the handkerchief and rubbed it against his face, reliving the moment. He still remembered with crystal clarity that the Queen's skin had felt the exact same way as it passed over his lips. Soft, like rose petals warmed by the sun, that's how it had felt like.

A smile passed over Cyrus' face. He liked Leene. Very much. And he knew she returned the sentiment. It was unfortunate that she was married to the King. Not that he begrudged his monarch a wife, but it was such a pity that it had to be the woman that he was attracted to. A small bit of him felt ashamed to admit that he was having an attraction to another man's wife, but try as he might, he couldn't dismiss the feeling. Oh, well. As long as nothing came of that attraction, he would be fine. But even as he thought this, he felt again the velvet of her skin on his lips and his mind wandered to whether her lips felt the same way...

Sitting up straighter, the warrior tensed. He scanned the darkness slowly and listened intently. Had that been the sound of a twig snapping? The wind was blowing softly and it drowned out little sounds as it passed through the forest, stirring leaves and the like. Yes, he confirmed silently as he heard the sound yet again. And there it was again! Now, it could be some animal, but that was unlikely. Most of the wildlife had been scared away by the fighting that had been going on in and around the woods the past few days. And whatever was creeping through the brush was big. Smiling a bit in amusement, he had to marvel how loud Mystics could be when they were trying to be quiet. Getting onto his knees he quietly began to track the sound to it's origin, keeping hold of his sword firmly in his hand. After a bit, he saw a shape that blended almost perfectly with the darkness. They were wearing some sort of dark colored cloak that covered them from head to toe and the hem was apparently caught on brambles. _I have you now, Mystic_, he thought to himself, getting ready to spring.

* * * * * 

"If Ozzie thinks I'm going to do manual labor for him like some common lackey, he's dead wrong. I have better things to do with my time then waste it on his stupid war," Magus fumed. The double doors at the front of Ozzie's Fort blew open and crashed against the stone wall with enough force to crack the hard wood as he approached them. A part of his mind reminded him that he really didn't have anything better to do with his time but he firmly pushed the thought aside. Damn that fat green blob of a Mystic, he thought angrily. Who did he think he was to order him around? Didn't he realize that with a single burst of power, Magus could destroy his precious little fort and all the Mystics within it? That would end their war on a sour note, to be sure. That would teach them to treat him in such an undignified manner.   
For a moment, Magus stopped and actually thought about doing it. Who would miss a bunch of dirty, evil Mystics? He'd be doing those humans a favor. The King would probably call him a hero for it. Appalled at the thoughts of such casual slaughter of innocents, even if the were Mystics, made him shake his head in disgust and keep walking. What an animal he'd become. He was no better then the Mystics were. The King wouldn't care if he obliterated every last Mystic from the face of the planet. All the Humans would see is the Mystic war hero, Magus. They wouldn't see him as some grand savior who had delivered them from the war and death that was plaguing the land. They would see their loved ones cut down by his blade and their homes destroyed by his magic. Their form of thanks would be his body tied to a stake in the middle of a blazing bonfire. 

Stopping in the last puddle of light from the castle behind him, he pulled up the hood on his cloak and made sure that his scythe was properly attached to his belt. It was best to make all last minute checks now before he encountered a Human. How unfortunate it would be if his cover was blown and his weapon was stuck. Not that he would let them take him alive, that is. If worse came to worse, he'd die in his magic and take his captors with him. In some ways, part of him almost wished for the chance to do that. Then the images of his failed suicide attempt came back to him, even if it had only been in his mind. _Coward_, he hissed at himself. _Bloodstained, murdering coward!_ Closing his eyes, he formed an image in his mind of the place where he wanted to go. 

Tugging at his power, he felt a lurch as his body dissolved in the darkness and teleported to where he wanted to go. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in another forest, very similar to the one outside Ozzie's Fort. However, this one was the camping ground for the Guardian armies. Immediately he fell into a battle stance, scanning the area around him. The problem with teleports was that you could never be certain that you weren't appearing smack dab over a cliff or in the middle of someone's house. Luckily, he knew exactly where he had wanted to go. The only problem was whether there were enemies around. 

Using his power a little to heighten his night vision, he looked over the immediate area. The smell of cook fires was on the wind. So was the smell of horses and more unpleasant, the stench of the latrines. But then the breeze had passed and all that was left was the lingering smell of death and blood that had soaked into the very ground upon which he stood. He was sure that both sides hadn't buried and burned all their dead yet. There were just too many casualties on both side to have cleared the bodies up in one day. The ground mist made walking dangerous, since it was hard to tell where there were dips and roots in the ground. Well, he'd have to take a chance of a broken ankle if he stepped wrong but it couldn't be avoided. He'd just have to deal with it. Using his cape, he fanned away the mist as best he could to clear a path for him to walk.

Magus carefully kept near trees when he could and darted across open spaces as fast and silently as a cat. Each shadow could contain a sentry with a crossbow that was just waiting to sniper him as he hurried from clearing to clearing. The trees themselves could be hiding an unseen guard who could sneak up behind him and attack him that way. Though the Knight's Code forbade back stabbing, it didn't mean that the person could sneak up from behind, startle the enemy so that they turned around, and plunge their sword into the enemy's guts. Speaking of which, Magus realized that he would have to be doubly careful, now that he was this close to the enemy camp. It was one thing to be trying to sneak by without detection. What he was trying to do was sneak into camp and learn the latest gossip of the troops. Magus' lip curled in a sneer as once again he was reminded how menial a job this was.   
In the distance, the light of the campfires made the mist take on an orangish-pink glow. Getting as close as he dared by walking, Magus dropped to his stomach and crawled towards the light. It was painfully slow going because dead leaves covered the forest floor and they would crunch with all the loudness of a thunder clap, amplified by the mist. Eventually he wormed his way up to the tents that were stationed for the commanders. A ring of guards was posted all the way around each one, preventing him from even getting close. Discouraged, but not daunted, he moved on. As he went, a smell started assaulting his nose. It was earthy and foul. Eventually he saw the reason why. The stables. Lines of cavalry horses were feeding and drinking from troughs that had been hastily erected. Some hapless young man was shoveling the horse dung onto a growing pile. This was getting him nowhere. Teleporting a safe distance away from the camp, Magus got to his feet and paced. The whole camp was swarming with people. There was no logical way he could get close enough to hear anything important. As he paced, he fanned his cape around himself, irritably shooing away the mist that clung to him. As he did so, the material accidentally got snagged in a thorn bush. Pausing, he absently tried to shake it free but only succeeded in making it more tangled. This only aggravated his already thin temper. Magus took firm hold and yanked, pulling part of the cloak free and taking part of the bush along with it in a loud crackling of branches. Freezing dead still, he mentally kicked himself in the pants for having let emotion cloud the dangerous situation he was in. All that noise would probably attract a sentry. As he tossed ideas around in his head about what to do, a sudden idea hit him. What would happen if he was able to corner a lone guard and question him?

Reaching out his powers, he felt for the presence of any approaching danger. He brushed against something coming his way. He had little time to put his plan into action. Untying the drawstring under his throat, he used his Shadow magic to create a dense black ball that levitated about where his head should be. Stuffing it into the hood of his cloak, it pulled the material upwards making it look like a person stood before him, rather then a disembodied cloak and magic ball. Assuring himself that everything was in order, Magus levitated up into the branches of a nearby tree to watch and wait. As he had hoped, some lone guard was sneaking up on his empty cloak thinking it was containing a person. Grinning to himself that his plan had actually worked, he thought smugly to himself, _I have you now, Human!_


	19. A Not So Happy Reunion

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 18**

**A Not So Happy Reunion**

By ZealPropht 

The guard approached the floating cloak slowly, crawling as he was on his hands and knees, choosing his path carefully across dead leaves and dry twigs. It was quite a chore not to make noise. However, from his vantage point up in the tree, it only made the spectacle that much more amusing. Magus had to clasp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. _Humans are so pathetic sometimes. But is it any wonder? By all reports, they are the descendants of the Earthbound colonies and that couldn't have helped their gene pool any. Too bad that no one here can match me in wits and strength. Ah, if only the Gurus could see me now! It would drive them crazy to see what spells I have mastered!_

The knight that was lurking below him had stopped and was studying the "figure" before him, judging the best way to attack. Not that it would do him much good, Magus snickered mentally. Finally the sentry decided that the direct approach would be best, for he stood up, sword drawn, and issued the standard military arrest. "In the name of his Majesty, I arrest you for the glory of the Crown! Turn around and keep your hands where I can see them, Mystic!" As could be expected, his words had absolutely no affect on the cloak. "Hey! Mystic! I said, turn around!" When again nothing happened, the knight warily poked the material with his blade. He took a step back in shock when it met with no resistance. "What the hell?" Grabbing hold of the material, he yanked, pulling it free of the magical floating ball that had been holding it up. Letting the cape drop, the man circled the ball and examined it. When he was sure that it wasn't some sort of explosive device, he raised his sword and slashed through it, leaving a white glowing line through the center. The white line grew brighter and spread till it engulfed the whole ball. In a matter of seconds, the magical creation exploded in a soft shower of golden sparks which fell harmlessly to the ground and quickly fizzled out. The guard uttered a soft curse and looked around him. 

"Damn your Mystic tricks! Stop these games and come out of hiding. I know you're out there, probably getting a laugh at the stupid Human who fell for your prank. Instead of being a coward, why don't you come out and face me? Or are you afraid?"

Magus knew, as he drew a dagger from the top of his boot, that he was safe from being seen. Unlike his own magically enhanced night vision, the guard below him was not that lucky, and the shadows created by the dense trees would be more then enough cover to hide his movements. Dropping down lightly from the tree, he landed silently behind the sentry. Using one arm, he reached around the other man's neck and caught him in a choke-hold, dragging his head back so he could press the dagger's keen edge against the guard's exposed throat. "Be careful what you wish for, Human. You just might get it!" he chortled in the man's ear. "Now, I have a few questions I want to ask of you and you're going to be very cooperative with me, right?" Magus tightened his grip a fraction, making the sentry gag and gasp for air. "You'd better be, or else you'll be getting a second mouth where you probably don't want one." Faster then it seemed possible for a man who was wearing armor, the sentry reached up and grabbed the hand that held the knife, forcing it away from him. Magus growled and tightened his choke-hold. 

They struggled for a while, neither one gaining any advantage over the other. The guard managed to place a foot against a tree and push back, throwing his weight against the Mystic, slamming his back into a tree. Magus flinched and cried out, feeling the air rush out of him. He started coughing, trying to draw in lungfulls of air in great gulps. The guard dropped his sword and rammed his metal-shod elbow into Magus' stomach. The magician doubled over, loosing his grip, allowing the sentry to pull free. He spun around and backhanded the Mystic, his fist connecting with the side of his head. 

The blow was hard enough to send Janus reeling. He became so unbalanced that he tripped over an unseen root that was hidden by the ground mist and he fell onto his back. The back of his hand smacked down on a rock, bruising the delicate flesh. The sudden pain made his hand spasm and the dagger to slip from his fingers. The world was spinning and specks of colored light danced in front of his eyes as he tried to regain a standing position. He was only partially successful. Using a tree for support, he helped steady himself. Shaking his head to dismiss the dizzy feeling and the ringing in his ears, he swore silently. As he recovered, he noticed that the Human had taken no time at all to search for where he dropped his sword. Unclasping the scythe from his belt, Magus lunged at the sentry, determined to beat him down until the man had no choice but answer whatever questions were asked of him. As it happened, at that very moment, the Human found the hilt of his sword. He rolled under Magus' swipe and cut at the Mystic's stomach. Janus was faster, though, and easily dodged the move that would have disemboweled him had it been successful and scored him. The two combatants stepped apart, crouched into battle stances. They were about evenly matched, Magus noted, raising his scythe in a mocking Knight's Salute to the enemy. They were about the same height and build. The knight returned the salute gravely and thrust forward.

Sparks flew as the two weapons connected, lighting up their faces for a millisecond. Janus could see that his opponent's expression was one of grim determination in the instant that they stood face to face with only their weapons and wills in conflict between them. Again there was a stalemate as they tried shoving each other back. The knight finally relented and allowed himself a step or two in reverse. The sudden lack of support made Magus fall forward. As he straightened up, he raised his blade in front of his face, narrowly blocking the two-handed downward swing that would have cleaved his skull in two. 

There was a shrill sound of metal cutting through metal as the heavier sword began to shear through the weakened, rusting scythe blade. The sword bit deeply, creating a large slice that was on it's way to breaking the weapon completely. Magus fell to one knee, trying to wrest the weapons to the side so that the sword didn't cut through his weapon and drive downward into his body. However, the sentry placed boot against his shoulder and pushed. There was no way to avoid landing on his rear end. The knight was leaning his whole weight on the sword he held. Without his legs under him to help support that weight, all the force was suddenly placed on Magus' arms alone. He grunted, leaning back. The muscles in his upper arms screamed in protest to such cruel treatment as he strained them to their limits.

"Damn it!" he muttered, being forced all the way down onto his back. He couldn't see the face of his opponent, shadowed as it was by his helmet and visor, but Magus was sure there was a smirk of triumph on his face. And then it happened. The scythe blade shattered into two pieces which fell onto Magus' chest. He twisted his head to the side as the sword point drove into the ground next to his left ear. Part of the edge cut into the soft muscles between his neck and shoulder. Warm blood stained his shirt and trickled to the ground beneath him, but the wound didn't seem deep. It just hurt like hell. Rolling to his feet, he broke into a run for his cloak where he had another dagger stashed. The one he'd used earlier was lost somewhere in the mist and he had no time to search for it. Guessing his intention, the knight took off after him, somehow managing to block the rumpled cloth before he could reach it. Magus skidded to a stop inches away from impaling himself through the heart on the knight's blade.

"Surrender and I'll spare your life. You are without weapons and are defenseless, so you really have no choice but to do as I say. You do not strike me as so much of a fool not to realize how hopeless your situation is," the knight stated, bluntly. "I swear on my honor that if you give yourself over into my custody, you shall be treated fairly." Magus burst out laughing. The situation would look hopeless, he had to admit, if he had been a normal warrior. But he wasn't a normal foot soldier sent by Ozzie. He was, after all, a magician. He didn't need a weapon for his specialized attacks. The guard before him obviously thought he had gone insane with terror or something because he was utterly shocked the way his Mystic "captive" was able to laugh in the face of death this way.

"I? Surrender to a mere Human? Surely you jest! I am not so helpless as you believe." So saying, Magus formed a ball of fire in his hand and threw it straight into the knight's face. However, the sudden light had blinded him somewhat after having fought in the dark for so long. His aim was off and so the knight escaped with little more then scorched armor. The fireball, however, went hurtling into the tree behind him. There was a "whump!" sound, quickly followed by a roar of flames as the whole tree exploded into flames. Both warriors stood agape, looking at the tree in amazement. 

"A little off on our aim, are we?" the knight asked in a friendly, yet sarcastic fashion as he ran a few paces away from the burning pine. "Not a bad try, though. You could probably hit the broad side of a barn now." Magus snarled a string of explicits almost as red-hot as the fire that crackled in front of him.

"Shut up! No one asked for your opinion!" he retorted, a slight blush on his features. Grabbing his cloak off the ground, he faced the guard. "You just count your blessings that I did miss or you would have suffered a very painful death." 

"Shall we continue then?" The man held his sword at ready, preparing for round two. Magus tossed his cape around his shoulders, wincing as the movement pulled on his wounded shoulder. Already he could hear shouts of alarm, even at this distance, as the fire started attracting attention. That was the only problem with magic. It was simply too flashy to be reasonably concealed from people. There were always loud explosions or large displays that would attract attention for miles around.

"You got off easy this time. Next time, you won't be so lucky!" Magus replied, tossing his blue hair out of his face. Closing his eyes, he prepared an image in his mind of Ozzie's Fort, from it's cold outer turrets to the gaudy finery of Ozzie's personal chambers. His concentration was distracted, however, mostly from the need to hurry before any more Humans arrived. He had almost gotten the image perfect when...

"Wait a minute! Janus? Is that you?"

The voice startled him enough to cause him to open his eyes. The guard was staring at him in a peculiar way. "I beg your pardon?" Magus responded, coldly. The sentry rubbed his eyes with one hand, leaving a smudge of dirt across his nose. He hadn't sheathed his sword, yet it hung limply in his hand. The man started walking forward, the expression on his face betraying the shock he felt inside. Though all his instincts screamed not to let the man narrow their distance between each other, he had a nagging feeling that this knight wouldn't hurt him. He trembled with the urge to flee as the man stopped right in front of him and reach out a hand, gently taking a lock of hair between his fingers and rubbing it, a look of wonder on his face. Instead, he studied the armor the knight wore. It was old, antique even, and had been repaired many times over. There was an especially nasty scar in the metal over the heart that spoke of something high-powered being launched, striking that area with enough force to create a gaping hole that had since been mended. Slightly above that area was a large round medal bearing the Guardian royal crest. It looked battered, as if it had been through a lot. _Must be some sort of rank insignia or something, though I haven't seen many officers who wear this type of badge._

"It is you," the guard breathed, a smile crossing his face. Janus studied him, from the eyes that were too young for his careworn face to the stubble that shadowed his cheeks and chin. There was something familiar about him...Suddenly, it dawned on him. Magus' eyes opened wide and his mouth moved without sound. Cyrus saw this and nodded. Nothing more had to be said. The two young men regarded each other in silence for a moment, just savoring their reunion, before the shouts of soldiers approaching shook them both from their reverie. Magus took a step backwards in fear. If he was captured, there was no way they would let him live. They'd execute him on the spot. He had to escape this very minute. Teleportation took time to do so running into the woods and lying low for a few hours would be his best bet. Before he could follow up on that plan however, a rough hand grabbed his wrist. He stared into Cyrus' eyes and saw that all the former friendliness had vanished from his companion's face. Janus swallowed hard and contemplated casting another spell. 

"Come with me," he said harshly, dragging the magician behind him. Together, they managed to flee into the bushes and just in time too. For at that very moment, dozens of troops bearing buckets of water appeared on the scene. The two warriors ran deeper and deeper into the forest until only a faint, dim glow could be seen above them in the sky that peeked through the trees. Once they were a safe distance away, they stopped to rest. Cyrus bent over, placing his hands on his knees, puffing. Janus was less winded, probably because he didn't have all that armor to carry around, he thought to himself. 

"Cyrus...I can't believe it!" he gasped out, trying to slow down his own heaving chest.

"I might say the same thing about you...Janus," Cyrus replied in a hurt tone, still panting. He raised his head and gave the magician a glare. "Why didn't you...tell me...you were alive?"

Having calmed down at last, Janus leaned against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked down at his feet, gloomy. "I...couldn't."

"Why? What was preventing you from letting me know you were still alive? How could you let me think for all these years that my own father had killed you?"

"I'm sorry, Cyrus. I really am. I wanted to let you know. I really did. But there were...circumstances beyond my control that prevented me from doing so."

"Circumstances," Cyrus repeated, mockingly. "What circumstances? Tell me!"

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I just can't!" Magus exploded at last, beginning to pace. "I'm not the person you used to know. I've changed."

"Yes, so I see. You're one of _them_ now, aren't you?" Cyrus spat in disgust. "I thought we were friends."

"We are friends."

Cyrus snorted. "Some friend you are. You run off to join the Mystics and leave me to mourn the death of not only my friend but of the love I bore for my father as well." He straightened up and sheathed his blade, having forgotten to do so in the heat of the moment earlier. "You have one hell of a priority complex."

"What do you know? After your father left me to burn to death, the Mystics rescued me. They took me in, taught me how to control my magic so bad things wouldn't happen, and more importantly, they _accepted_ me for who I am. _Your _kind would never have seen me as anything more then a blue-haired freak!"

"Janus, you don't understand! The Mystics are our _enemies!_"

"They are YOUR enemies!" Janus shot back, vehemently. "They are the only family I have had in this Gods-awfull kingdom. They made me someone important. They took me in when no one else would. You're the only one who doesn't understand."

Cyrus lowered his head into his hands and closed his eyes. "You're right. I don't understand. I don't understand why you turned your back on everything good and decided to live in darkness. I don't understand why you chose the Mystics as your allies. I don't understand why my father had to die." He paused. "That would be reason enough for me to take you to my commanding officer, but I won't, simply because there has been enough killing and I don't want your death on my conscience." 

"Sir Cedrick brought it on himself," Janus responded in chilly tones. "He tried to murder and innocent boy because of some stupid prejudice. It is the curse of the weak to destroy what they don't comprehend because the unknown frightens them. Rather like a child that is afraid of monsters under the bed but is afraid to light a candle and explore if there really is anything there at all. Instead, they lay there all night shivering in dread, for no reason other then stupidity and cowardice. They don't face their fears because they don't want to understand the nature behind them. They don't want to see their own failings. They have to demolish everything that makes them nervous or frightened because it makes them feel big and powerful when in reality, they are nothing more then ants."

"And because of that you sent that butcher...that _Magus_ after my father as an act of revenge?"

With his head in his hands the way they were, Cyrus missed the flash of confusion and disbelief that crossed Janus' face. Was it possible that he wasn't aware that Janus and Magus were one and the same person? It wasn't as if it couldn't happen. With his hood up to conceal his hair and the smoke and battles raging around them both, it was entirely possible that Cyrus had never gotten a really good look at the Magus. In fact, with so many Humans and Mystics fighting, he could have mistaken half a dozen people for the famed magician. "The Magus...he is nothing more than a pawn of Lord Ozzie's. He does what he is told to do. He's a soldier, not unlike you or...or myself." At least part of that was true. "From what I know of him, he has a sense of honor. I don't think he really meant to kill your father..." Of course he hadn't meant to kill Cedrick. But the man had tried to kill him three times in very dishonorable ways. Janus wasn't sorry he was dead, and he had no regrets about the deed. Of all the people he'd killed, Cedrick was the only one where he knew he had been in the right. 

"You speak so highly of him," Cyrus accused, raising his head once more. Then he turned away with a bitter smile. "You must be very proud of your famous war hero. Look at all the glory he has brought to the Mystics by crawling over mounds of Human corpses."

"No, I'm not proud. Not of him, not of any of them," Janus answered softly. "But don't you see? They are all I have. Without them, I am nothing."

"That isn't true, Janus!" Cyrus stated firmly, coming over and placing his hands on the young man's shoulders. "You are a valiant fighter and you have magic, which is more than most around this place. Come with me! Leave the side of evil and fight by my side as my brother in arms."

"And become a deserter?" Janus shook his head. "I may have lost a lot of my morals when I became a Mystic, but honor wasn't one of them. I made my decision long ago and I will not abandon my liege lord, just as I know you wouldn't abandon yours if I asked you to."

Cyrus scoffed and let go of his friend's shoulders. "This isn't the same. You're talking about the Mystics as if they were feeling people!"

"They aren't?"

"Of course not! They are savage, brutal killers!"

"As if you Humans are any better. It takes two to make a war, you know." Shaking his head in frustration, Janus adjusted his gloves and wrapped his cape around him. "I don't know why I bother talking to you about this. I can't expect you to understand. No one understands. There is no 'right' in a war. It's all academic, depending on what side you're fighting on." For a while they stood in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Cyrus watched Janus as he stood there, surrounded by shadows. _They cling to him,_ he thought. _He's changed so much. I remember him as a sad boy who never seemed to fit in but did his best to act normal, like me. I remember how his eyes were so full of life. Now all I see is night in their depths. I see anger and hate and sorrow. I see death. He smells of it, the way the battlefield smells after each fight. He even looks like a Mystic now. I don't know how I even recognized him outside of his hair. That is the only thing that has remained vibrant about him._ And indeed it was so. In the dim light of the smoldering tree, far away behind them, his skin was chalk white, his eyes like holes in his head, and even his ears now had a delicate point to them. Only his hair retained it's sky blue color. _The Mystics corrupt everything they come in contact with. They have raped and murdered his sense of justice till he no longer believes in anyone or anything but himself, and even then, he still questions whether he should do that._

"I need to get back," Janus said abruptly. Cyrus nodded and watched as his companion made sure all his possessions were in order before he teleported. 

"Will we ever see each other again, Janus?"

The magician looked at his friend sadly. "I hope not. If we do, it will most likely be as enemies. Then, one of us will be forced to kill the other. It is best if we forget we ever saw each other. The Janus you knew is long dead, killed in a fire, leaving his friend to mourn and I am but a stranger." He gestured in the direction of the camp. "As it is, you'll have to explain why you deserted your post to help me escape."

Cyrus waved it aside, absently. "Don't worry about that. But I can't just let you walk away like this."

"I'm not walking, I'm teleporting, actually."

"Be serious. I can't let things end so unfinished."

"Well, what do you want? A duel?" Magus snarled. "I'm sure we can always pick up where we left off."

"Not a duel," Cyrus disagreed. "A pact."

Janus narrowed his eyes suspiciously and regarded the knight before him with guarded curiosity. "All right, you've caught my attention. What sort of pact?"

"What I propose will benefit both of us and hopefully allow us to meet once this war is over and done with."

"I don't understand," the young Mystic said impatiently. Cyrus gave him a dark look.

"If you would give me a chance to speak without interruption, everything will be made clear." Cyrus waited to see is Janus would say anything further but all that greeted him was an irritated silence. "As I was saying, I'm asking that we both make a vow not to harm or conspire to harm each other during this war. I know that my request is a lot to ask of you, but...as I said earlier...I don't want the death of a friend on my conscience." 

"That is a hell of a lot to ask of me, considering who it is I work for," Janus stated incredulously. He watched as Cyrus removed the gauntlet from his right hand, attach it to his belt, and draw his sword. Switching the sword from his right to left hand, he carefully drew his hand down the keen edge of the blade, creating a line of crimson across his palm. Then, he held both the sword and the wounded hand out to Janus in a gesture of friendship. Magus looked between the offered hand and the sword for a moment. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?" he asked at last.

"I've never been more in earnest. I ask you to please make this vow with me. If not for our future, then for the sake of the friendship we once had." 

Janus hesitantly removed the glove from his own right hand and grasped the blade of the sword, tightly. The metal was razor sharp, slicing his flesh. He gritted his teeth at the sudden sting and swiftly placed his bleeding palm against Cyrus'. "This better be worth it," the magician said in an undertone. Cyrus merely smiled.

"I swear by my honor as a knight and by this Hero's Medal upon my chest that I shall not break this vow," he stated solemnly. Janus barely managed to conceal the sudden shock that went through him. It felt as if his heart had dropped into his stomach and someone had forced all the air out of his lungs. His brain ceased to function on anything other then one thought: Cyrus was the Hero that everyone had been speaking of! Sweet Darkness! This couldn't be happening! Of all people, why did it have to be him? Somewhere in his amazement and horror, Janus remembered how to breathe. It was too late to back out of the pledge, not when his blood had already mingled with that of the man before him, now his blood-brother if he was to believe this ritual correctly. Swallowing to try and wet his suddenly dry mouth, he closed his eyes and finished the pact.

"I swear by my honor and on the memory of my sister that I shall not break this vow." Though Cyrus regarded him funny, since he had no idea what sister he was talking about, he nonetheless shook hands firmly before letting go. Tearing a strip of cloth from his cape, he bound the wound. Janus merely touched his with a finger, sealing it shut with a word.

"That's handy," Cyrus noted, nodding at what Janus had done. The other man shrugged. It was no big deal if one happened to be the Magus, but he wasn't about to tell Cyrus that. Not yet. Someday maybe, when things were more at peace. When he was more at peace with himself. "I guess this is it, then."

"I guess so."

"Hey, if you ever need to get in touch with me, for any reason at all, I'll meet you at the tree your magic burned down."

Blushing again at the mention of his blunder, Janus asked, "But how will I reach you? It's not like I can send you a letter or anything."

"I'll come back every few days to check if you're there." Replacing his sword in his sheathe, he gave his friend one last look, memorizing his features. After all, it's not every day that someone you thought was dead comes back to life. "Good bye, Janus."

"Good bye, Cyrus. May the Black Wind never blow your way." Placing two fingers to his forehead, Janus called up a mental image of Ozzie's Fort. In seconds, he was gone. Not even a breeze marked his passing. Cyrus regarded the spot where Janus had stood only an instant before with a regretful smile. Too bad he hadn't been able to tell Janus the anterior motive behind the pledge he'd been talked into making. It was obvious that Janus was under Magus' protection, despite his protestations on the contrary. 

_He's just another soldier, like you or I_, Cyrus recalled Janus saying. _As if a man as evil and wild as the great Magus could be a simple soldier. More like Ozzie's personal assassin. He's got his hooks into Janus deep, all right. It's no wonder the poor guy doesn't want to desert the Mystic army. One wrong step and he could find himself on the receiving end of a lightning bolt through the head._ Turning on his heel, the knight sprinted back into the direction of his unit's camp. _That will soon change, though. Once I get rid of the Magus and revenge my father's murder, Janus will be free to walk in the paths of light once again. He'll finally see the error of his ways and how, in a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to be misled into believing the lies those dirty Mystics told him. He doesn't need them. He's strong enough to break free of their tyranny. He just needs me to show him the way._ A devious smile, one that spoke of plots and intrigue, crossed Cyrus face. _Just as he will show me the way to the Magus. I'm sorry that I have to use him in such a fashion, but he'll understand, when it is all over, that what I am doing, I am doing for him. With the Magus gone, he will be out of Ozzie's control and then, with him on our side, we can end this war by obliterating every Mystic scum that dares to cross the Kingdom of Guardia!_ The glow of the camp fires soon came into view, along with the still smoldering, blackened remains of the once proud pine tree. As he neared the outskirts of the enlisted barracks, he was greeted by a familiar voice, hollering at him from across the way. 

"Cyrus! Ho, Cyrus! Where hast thou been?! I have searched near and far for thee and have found nary a trace of thy whereabouts in any of your usual places." Glenn sped up and skidded to a halt, falling into step beside his taller companion. "Didst thou see the commotion of late? A tree exploded into flames and-"

"I was there, Glenn," Cyrus replied in patient, yet weary tones as he cut off his younger friend's chattering. The green haired youth closed his mouth and cast his eyes down, making Cyrus instantly regret the harsh tone of voice he'd used.

"Forgive me, Cyrus. I was worried about you. I couldst find you nowhere and my first thought was about you standing watch. Alone, with no soul to guard your back...''Twas not a comforting thought. I do not know how I shouldst have explained it to her Majesty if you had left us. Permanently."   
Cyrus looked over at Glenn who was doing his best to keep his face emotionless, as if he were discussing the weather or the condition of the roads. But under the cracked mask, the older man could see that his lack of attendance had truly scared the boy. _He's still so young, so fresh from the crib that the thought of losing one of the few friends he has in the camp shakes him up. I can't say as I blame him, though. If anything were to happen to him...I don't know what I'd do._

"It's all right, Glenn. I understand. I know that these things can really unnerve a person, especially when a friend is involved." Cyrus placed his arm around the boy's shoulders in a brotherly fashion. Glenn leaned into him, savoring the small amount of comfort. It was hard, knowing that his best friend in the whole world could have been lying out there, in the dark forest, bleeding to death with some Mystic's spear point driven through his guts. But he wasn't, Glenn told himself firmly, pushing the morbid image aside. Cyrus was here, walking beside him, comforting him, being the caring person he had come to admire and respect.

"You have the heart of the matter completely, Cyrus," Glenn replied, giving the man at his side a wide smile that was just short of hero worship. "But, come, tell me of thy watch. You say you were there when yonder tree exploded. What caused such a great calamity that nearly destroyed all this great and lush forest that surrounds us?"

"A Mystic, as usual."

"Ah, I see. Didst thou fillet the scoundrel?"

"No. He escaped, unfortunately. I gave chase and we fought a bit. I received this for my pains." Cyrus held out his hand, the one he had cut earlier, showing the blood-soaked cloth of the crude bandage he'd made. Glenn gasped and took his friend's hand in both of his, carefully unwrapping the torn strip of cloth from the wound, trying not to cause the seeping slash any more damage.

"This wound is very ugly indeed. Come with me to the medic's tent and we shall get this cleaned up." The boy took hold of Cyrus' arm in a firm grip and began steering him towards the makeshift infirmary that had been erected. Cyrus tried to disentangle his arm from Glenn as he protested that no, he didn't need to see a medic.

"I'll wash it and bandage it up again and I will be fine."

"I will brook no refusal. Do as I bid thee, Cyrus."

"But-"

"Hast thou knowledge of the medical arts? Doest thou think thyself capable of fighting one handed should that wound fester until thy hand needs must be removed?" Glenn had the small satisfaction of making Cyrus look sick to his stomach. "I thought not. Now, do as I have said." Propelling him into the tent, Glenn forced Cyrus into a rickety chair and, after making him vow to stay put, went to go find a doctor. Cyrus sighed and leaned back in his seat, slouching down so that his head could rest on the back of the chair. As he watched Glenn scurry between cots and nurses, he noted the number of wounded had increased yet again. The field medics were assisting the doctors who always stayed in camp and there was still not enough help to go around. So many men were lying in their own blood, unable to be helped by anyone because there was simply nothing that could be done for them. Medical supplies had been dwindling. The only consolation was that Guardia had been enjoying many years of bountiful harvests. Thus, their rations were not so depleted, which was a good thing for everyone concerned. After a long, hard day of fighting, all the soldiers really wanted to do was eat a hot, hearty meal and hit the sack.

Glenn finally came back with a doctor on his heels. "This is the man?" the doctor asked, washing his hands in a nearby basin. Glenn nodded. The doctor adjusted his glasses and dried his hands on a relatively clean towel. Sanitation out on the battlefield was very hard, considering about the only cases that came in were emergencies. There was barely enough time to save that person's life before another came in. In between patients, the nurses would try and boil the bandages and medical equipment to sterilize it to keep from spreading infections. Even so, it was not uncommon to have to amputate a limb that had become infected. While the thought was stomach churning, it was either lose a limb or lose your life. There was no in between. The medical herbs that the doctors purchased from herbalists to make healing salves and potions were running out. The lands all around Guardia castle and Truce Canyon had been ravaged and the destruction was moving downward to Porre and Choras. Farmlands where those healing herbs were cultivated were destroyed, leaving only trampled patches of leaves that could not be used for anything. Not even the calvary mounts would eat them. 

"Well, let me see the injury," the doctor said. Cyrus held out his palm and made up a quick story of how he had received the injury. The doctor raised an eyebrow at him but didn't comment. Instead, he reached into a pocket of his stained white smock and pulled out a small needle and a box of thread. Calling a nurse over, he asked that she get them both sterilized. The woman bobbed a curtsy and hurried away to do as she was told. Cyrus looked at the old physician nervously. "It's not too deep, but it needs a few stitches. While the nurse is doing that, I'll get the wound cleaned up," the man stated, pulling up another chair and grabbing a clean basin of water, placing it on his lap as he sat down. "Boy, hand me that white wash rag over there," he directed Glenn. The small soldier picked it up and tossed it to the doctor who caught it with a grunt. Placing Cyrus' hand in the warm water, he gently began to clean the crusted blood off. By the time he was finished, the nurse had returned with the needle and thread, holding them both with a pair of tongs to keep them cleaner as she handed them to the doctor. He accepted them and gave Cyrus a look.

"This is going to hurt, isn't it?" Cyrus grumbled. He could face onslaughts of Mystics, laugh in the face of death and live to tell about it, and even take on the cousin of Ozzie, but if there was one thing that truly scared Cyrus, it was needles. He felt Glenn's hands come to rest on his shoulders, gently rubbing the metal shoulder guards he wore, trying to ease his tension. He gritted his teeth and nodded the go ahead to the doctor. He closed his eyes as the thin bit of metal pierced the already sore flesh. The sting was sharp, but it was bearable. He moved his lips, counting to ten forwards and backwards until the doctor was finished. "Thanks," was all he could muster while still being civil. The doctor set the bowl of water on his lap aside and got to his feet.

"You'll get my bill," he replied, a twinkle in his old eyes. "Keep that hand clean and dry and try not to use it for five to seven days. Then come back here and get one of the nurses to remove the stitches for you." Cyrus grunted a nonverbal reply and it was probably just as well. His hand ached and he just wanted to go to sleep. Glenn led him out of the medical tent and back to his barracks, helping him struggle out of his armor so that he could sleep. The tent was warm because of a firepit dug in the center. Cyrus settled down onto his cot and drew up the covers around his chin. 

"I'll stay to guard thy rest and make sure no one disturbs thy slumber," Glenn stated, sitting on the trunk Cyrus used to pack his weapons, clothes, and armor in. He waited for a reply or rejection while adding another log to the fire but he received none. "Cyrus? Didst though hear me?" A soft snore was the only sound that parted from Cyrus. He was already fast asleep. Glenn smiled and shook his head, adjusting his armor so he could be more comfortable as he watched over his friend. He had promised to guard Cyrus while he slept and so he would. That was what good friends were for.

* * * * * 

  
Janus appeared in the same spot he had first teleported from outside Ozzie's Fort. He sighed and looked around. What would he tell Ozzie about the Hero? There was no way he could reveal that it was his old friend Cyrus without looking bad himself. After all, they had spoken together just now. He had orders that he should find out everything he could about the Hero and it was only common sense that if you got the Hero by himself, you should kill him. Oh, why did he go and agree to that pact? Walking up to the large doors that led into the main entry hall, Janus kicked them savagely, the force cracking them even more then he had earlier that night. The blow echoed all along the castle, making the Mystics inside stop and look around, wondering if the whole building was about to collapse. A disgruntled Imp took hold of the rusted metal rings and yanked hard, the veins popping out of the sides of his forehead and neck. The doors creaked open. Magus brushed past the Imp without so much as a glance. 

"Hey, buddy! You could have knocked, you know. There was no need to go kicking the damn door," the Imp shouted after him. Without turning around and without stopping, Magus cast a Lightning spell at twice the normal power. The Imp shrieked as the bolts ran through his body. He fell to the floor and twitched, his body blackened. "Hey...s'okay...No offense...intended...I'm...sure...," he stuttered out between convulsions. Magus noticed the lights getting dim as he walked, an instant foretelling that he was about to have company. A white outline formed, filling in as it grew brighter, until Ozzie floated along beside him.

"Magus, my boy! How are you?" he chortled in an easy going, friendly voice. "What tasty bits of gossip have you gotten for me, eh?"

"You need a new doorman."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Leave me alone, Ozzie," Magus snapped, looking at the fat green Mystic out of the corner of his eyes. Not one to be discouraged, the Mystic Leader merely laughed.

"Oh, come on now. No need to be so surely with me, my dear boy. I'm only curious as to what you found out about this Hero person that the Humans are raving about."

"Ozzie, I have served you for many years, have I not?"

The Mystic blinked at the sudden change of topic. "Why, uh, yes. You have."

"And in all that time I have rarely failed to meet your expectations." It was a statement, not a question. Ozzie nodded, puzzled. "Then let me say that this is one of the few times I have ever failed you."

"What do you mean? I...I don't understand what you're trying to say," Ozzie commented, shaking his head from side to side like a giant pendulum.

"What I am trying to say is that I was unsuccessful. I found nothing of significance about the Hero. All I got were rumors and idle chitchat as to his great deeds and how fortunate the Humans are to have him on their side."

"That's all?"

"You got it." Magus stopped and closed his eyes for a moment as a sharp pain lanced behind his eyes. Reaching out, he grabbed Ozzie by the throat. "Don't even think about trying a mind probe, you fat lump of slimy green filth!" Ozzie squirmed and choked.

"Okay, okay! Sorry!"

Magus dropped the Mystic who hovered a safe distance away, coughing and rubbing his neck. "You try that again, I'll kill you. No one is allowed inside my head, understand? You'll hear what I want you to hear and if you don't like it, tough. Don't you _ever_ think it's acceptable for you to go into my thoughts and rummage through them as if they were your personal library."

Ozzie drew himself up to his full, unimposing height. "And why not? You're nothing more then a servant, oh high and mighty Magus! Remember your place! I _made_ you what you are! If it weren't for my kindness, you'd have been dead a long time ago." 

"And _you_ better watch _your_ place, Ozzie, or you could find yourself missing an empire," Magus threatened quietly. He watched as the Mystic went from bright green to pale pastel as the blood drained out of his face.

"You...inconceivable...stuck-up..._nobody_!" he shrieked. "You wouldn't dare!"

Magus threw back his head and laughed. "You're so wrong! I am the Magus, I dare anything!" He leaned forward to speak softly as if they were speaking of something confidential. "Have no fear, though. I have no interest in your little position as Mystic Leader. However, if you don't watch yourself, I might start to take an interest, and that would be very bad for you, wouldn't it? Without me, Flea and Slash would have carved you into kibble by now."

"If you even think about taking things over, you'd be in for a rude shock. You have no supporters. No one would listen to you. Even though they hate my guts, Slash and Flea would side with me against you because they dislike you more then they do me."

Magus shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me that no one likes me. Fear is as strong an emotion as love. Your followers fear me and most of them are greedy enough to join me because they know I would lead them to victory in whatever I choose to do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go pick out a suitable room for myself since my current one has far outlived it's usefulness to me." Bowing mockingly, Magus vanished without a trace.

"I hope you shrivel up and die, you ungrateful upstart boy!" Ozzie called after him furiously. Slash materialized out of the shadows. Ozzie glared at him. "Did you hear what he said to me? Can you believe his nerve?"

"Ozzie, I was here the whole time, remember? Of course I heard what he said." Slash rubbed his chin in thought. "He's hiding something, you know."

"Don't be an idiot! I knew that from the moment he walked through the front door," the green Mystic grouched. Actually, he hadn't, but he wasn't going to let Slash know that. But now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. "By getting me all worked up that way, he succeeded in backing out of the conversation about the legendary Hero. He talked circles around me so that I wouldn't be able to see the truth." He floated back and forth in a form of pacing while Slash leaned idly against the wall. "The boy has definitely become a Mystic, all right. He's learned the art of political maneuvering much faster then I would have thought. He never seemed interested in politics, but I should have watched him more closely. He's had too much freedom. I indulged him, encouraging that mean streak, his arrogant, proud side in hopes of nurturing a killer's instinct within him. I succeeded. But at what cost to myself, I wonder?"

"Want I should go spend twenty minutes with him? I could have him spilling his guts for you when I get back. You'd learn everything you want to know, and then some," Slash chuckled, cracking his knuckles and patting Slasher on the hilt. Ozzie shook his head.

"No, he's expecting something like that. Instead, let us indulge him a little while longer. Let us make him feel as if he has us all in check and that we really do fear him. This way, he'll never suspect that we're secretly plotting his downfall."

"We are?" Slash inquired, raising his eyebrows to his hairline. Ozzie favored him with a withering look.

"Of course we are, stupid! He's too wild to control. I used to be able to handle him, but now I can't. He's out of my level of magical skill and there is no way you could possibly defeat him alone. He's crossed the line between useful and a threat. He's concealing things from me, things that he shouldn't be. That is dangerous for not only you and I, but for the whole Mystic population as well."

"I see your point." Slash ran a hand lightly over his bald blue head. "What are we going to do then? If neither I nor you can touch him, who can?" A light gleamed in Ozzie's eyes.

"How about...the Hero?"

"What hero?" Slash asked in confusion. "Oh! You mean the Human Hero!"

"Precisely. I have a feeling that Magus knows more about that person then he is letting on. I want you to watch him carefully these next few weeks and see what he does, where he goes, things like that. Think you can handle this job without being to obvious?"

Slash laughed. "Don't worry. My middle name is Subtlety." 

"You don't have a middle name. In fact, you don't even have a last name, either!" Ozzie crossed his arms. "Somehow I'm not convinced." Slash continued to laugh, this time in a nervous fashion, placing an arm behind his head.

"So, um, anyway...About that attack on Zenan Bridge?"

"Let us postpone that attack for the time being. Instead, let us concentrate our efforts on the cargo routes that are supplying the Human armies. If we cut off their supplies, the lack of food will weaken them and send the Kingdom into a panic. It will be simple to defeat a bunch of hunger-crazed peasants." And, if I play my cards right, Ozzie thought, I can even turn a tidy profit. He pictured himself standing up on a podium, holding a withered carrot in his hand saying, "We'll start the bidding at one hundred gold pieces for this delicious, nutritious carrot. Do I hear one hundred anyone?" The thought made him laugh out loud. He caught Slash looking at him funny so he quickly stopped. 

"Do you want me to employ our troops or borrow some?"

"Get the best you can borrow from my cousin, if you can. A dozen Gnawers and maybe a couple of our Grimalkins, if you can talk them into volunteering, that is."

Slash smiled widely. "I can be very persuasive. All right. I'm on top of it." Bowing, he faded out in a flash of white light. Ozzie looked around himself at the hallway. It was really a large room with stairs running straight down the center that led up to a balcony. Right now, he stood near the archway to the next room, trying to distinguish what it was lying next to the front door. It moved slightly.

"Hello?" the unfortunate Imp called out. "Can someone come and give me a hand? One of mine seems to be detached." Ozzie rolled his eyes. When Janus had said he needed a new doorman, he hadn't been kidding. Sending a telepathic link to some Henchs, he waited expectantly for them to come and clean up the mess Magus had left behind. 


	20. A Brief Respite From Battle

**The Story Of Magus Chapter 19**

**A Brief Respite From Battle**

By ZealPropht 

"Okay, men. Attention!" Slash clanged a little gong to get everyone in the room to look up at him then set it aside. "This will only take a moment. I know how anxious you are to get out there and see battle, but first things first." 

The ranks of Gnawers and Grimalkins fell into lines. There were not very many of them, only about eighteen all together. From the way they held themselves, it was plain to see that these were some of the top fighters amongst their clans. Having a natural distrust for anyone outside their own kind, the two races of Mystics eyed each other with suspicion and open contempt. 

They stood opposite each other in the large, ornate war council room since neither side really wanted to mingle with the other if they could help it. The room itself was taken up mostly by a large table with chairs all around it. At one point in time, back before Ozzie had taken control of the Mystics, each chair would have been occupied by the head of the various tribes and clans that made up the Mystic society. Though they were collectively referred to as the Mystics, there were so many different ethnicity's present, (they hated being referred to as a "species,") that they all demanded to have some voice in whatever war councils were held. 

There was a brief period during the reign of the Imp ruler, Pentab, and his "loyal" magician, Caratak the White, when this method of government was actually used. However, when Caratak eventually took over, he did away with the collective Council. In his opinion, being Leader of the Mystic Hoards meant for there to be only one supreme ruler who took charge over everyone in his kingdom. He went so far as to forbid the elders of the different Mystic tribes to elect spokespeople at all. 

This style of ruling was changed yet another time when Ozzie usurped leadership from Caratak. He believed in a happy medium between dictatorship and democracy. He allowed each tribe to have a spokesperson who would deal with most of the matters of that faction but Ozzie still had ultimate control over the lives of his people. His word was law and with Magus at his side, no one dared to dispute that claim. 

"Squad leaders, come forward." 

A Gnawer that was a little bit bulkier then the rest slithered away from his companions. His name was Siphus. He had been elected to be leader of his group in trial by combat against his peers for the position. His purple scales were interrupted in places by dark pink gashes and bite marks, a tribute to how well he fought off his attackers. His flat, reptilian eyes held no emotion as he approached Slash and curled his head down to his chest in an approximation of a bow. 

"My peersss have chosssen me asss their represssentitive," Siphus whispered, his voice raspy and dry. 

On the other side, a Grimalkin with a green bandana tied around his head stepped up. He gave a salute, something he had obviously picked up from the Knights, yet he twisted it into a mocking parody. His body was also testimony to the matches he had won to ensure his place as a leader of his people. Areas of his feather and fur covered torso and face had swollen up from the repeated blows of his opponents. Yet despite the fact that he was obviously sore, he held his head up proudly, displaying the green bandana, the symbol of leadership of from the elders of his tribe. 

"Neechar is the name, destruction's my game! No matter what the Human's say, Mystic might will win the day!" he stated in a singsong voice. 

Slash cringed inwardly. He personally hated Grimalkins because of their annoying way of speech. It was the same with the Gnawers. Their constant hissing could grate on one's nerves. Thank the Darkness that he didn't have to listen to them very long. 

"Um, I'm sure it will, Char," Slash agreed with a nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Anyway, here is the deal." 

The swordsman pulled a large red velvet curtain aside, revealing a perfectly detailed map of the entire world. It had been painstakingly hand-crafted by a captured Human artist who was later killed. The colors were perfect, as were the locations of villages in Guardia Kingdom. 

The two Captains gathered close, giving each other distrustful looks, so that they could see better. 

There were sections of the map shaded in with either small silver shields or minuscule jade carvings of Ozzie's head, all held in place by pins through small holes in the surface of the icons that represented the two armies. Each icon represented a certain number of soldiers. There were gold shields meaning thirty men and platinum ones for one hundred and silver for ten. On the Mystic side, jade for ten, sapphire carvings of Slash were twenty, ruby carvings of Flea, despite the fact that she was out of action, for fifty, and one special carving that represented the Magus. It was an amethyst scythe and stood for one hundred. There was more amethyst present then any other gem or precious metal. 

Slash pointed to a road that stretched from the bottom of the continent to the head of Zenan Bridge. "Here is where the Human food supply wagons come up from Choras and are met by this small band of Knights who are positioned directly in front of the supply train," he explained, pointing to a silver shield at the spot he was talking about. "The supply wagons themselves are guarded by yet another ten Knights. What Ozzie wants you to do is to hit them with all you have as hard as you can, steal as much of their goods as you can carry and teleport back here, and then burn whatever is left. We don't want the Humans to get so much as a crumb from that food caravan, understand?" 

"Not a crumb will make it through. We'll do the job we're sent to do," Char answered promptly, wanting to make a good impression on Slash with his enthusiasm for the job. 

Siphus thrashed his tail, the only sign of his loathing for Neechar since his dead eyes reflected what they saw without revealing anything he was feeling within. "It isss asss he saysss," the Gnawer agreed in an undertone that was directed at the Grimalkin. "Have no fear. The Humansss will fall. The Myssstics will be the victorsss in thisss ssskirmish." 

Slash crossed his arms over his chest. "So be it then. On your way. I'll expect a report at the end of the mission." 

The two Captains bowed and then, with eyes narrowed at each other in distaste, they signaled their groups to fall into lines behind them. 

Slash watched them go, wondering not for the first time whether it was because of the unity in their society that made the Humans such powerful opponents on the battlefield. _Maybe Janus was right when he told me that being out for personal gain is where we are going wrong. Maybe working together is the key to this whole thing..._

He shook off the feeling. Magus' weak influence was starting to affect his thinking. 

Turning back to the map, he studied the position of the Mystic and Human armies. The map had been magically enhanced to replace the icons when units had been destroyed in combat as well as allowing the small pieces to be manually rearranged. He frowned as he saw one of Ozzie's pieces glow and then vanish as a unit of ten Mystics went under the flashing blades of the Knights. 

Mentally, he sighed. It wasn't his place to think this way, he thought to himself, returning to the earlier topic. Ozzie was supposedly the brains behind this war. Slash was only there to do the dirty work for his fat green lord. Not that he really respected Ozzie as a leader. Far from it. But unlike Flea, his ambitions were quieter. He didn't make such a big show of wanting to take over like she did. 

Despite what people thought, there was a subtle side to Slash, one that was as cunning and sharp as the blade he carried with him as a constant companion. He had patience, something Flea lacked. She had paid for it with her sanity and very nearly her life as well. As much as Slash would like to drag Ozzie over hot coals, he wasn't ready to face Magus. Not yet. But one day, he vowed, he would be. This scheme Ozzie had cooked up to eliminate both Magus and the Hero was a good one, surprisingly, and it worked to his advantage as well as Ozzie's. Slash was almost positive that the Hero would be defeated by Magus, but he knew that the battle would weaken the young magician sufficiently enough so that when Janus felt Slasher sliding deep into his chest, cleaving his heart in two, there would be nothing he could do to stop the blue swordsman. It was for that moment Slash was living for. 

Giving one last cursory glance over the map, he pulled the curtains back across it, hiding it from view. He should go and check on Flea now, he decided. Concentrating, he teleported to his room. 

It was a spacious and luxurious type of place with his idea of a rustic sort of feeling. Animal skins were stretched out on the stone floor with various heads from said animals mounted on the walls. He had a few leather chairs and one divan near the fireplace which was large enough to roast a boar in. There was a sword rack with rapiers, long swords, broad swords...even a cutlass! He prided himself on being a master of _all_ swords. But the weaponry didn't stop there. He had maces, flails, war hammers, axes, whips...The list went on and on! 

There was a wine cabinet with his selection of hard drinks and then, for a softer occasion, wines that had been aged by the greatest Mystic wine presses. Last, but not least, was his bed. It was a great four posted deal with a canopy. The covers were made up of more animal skins. 

Snuggled up in them was Flea. Her face was relaxed for a change. Usually her sleep was troubled by nightmares of Magus and her defeat at his hands. But not today, surprisingly. 

Though he had been keeping it a secret from everyone, Slash knew that Flea had been gradually pulling herself back together. She would have moments of perfect clarity. It was in those times that she would want to know what was going on with the war and would be coherent. She would swear that this was the day she would be well again but in the end, she always lapsed back into her own inner torment, shutting out the rest of the world. So, it was with caution that Slash approached the side of his bed and reached out a hand to touch her face. 

Something stirred within him as he looked at her. She had the softest skin and her lips looked so kissable. Oh, how he missed making love to her! It was impossible to even sleep in the same bed with her when she was trapped in her own mind. 

Flea's eyes fluttered open and she squinted up at him as the light hurt her eyes at first. "Slash," she mumbled. "I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I didn't mean to. I was trying to stay up to wait for you so we could talk." 

He held his breath. "Are you with me right now, Flea? I mean, you know what's going on?" 

She looked puzzled for a few moments and nodded slowly. "I...think so." 

"Good." Slash sat down next to her on the edge of his bed. "Don't worry about falling asleep. You need your rest. The sooner you get back on your feet, the better. We have things brewing, big things, things that you need to be a part of."  


"Today will be the day, Slash," Flea said firmly, repeating the lines he had heard many times before. "Today, I'll be well again and we'll get to work on our plans."  


"Sure, hon," Slash answered her gently, the same response he always gave her. He didn't have the heart to tell her that she was probably wrong again, like the past dozen times she had said that. 

But Flea noticed the difference in his voice. "You don't believe I can do it, do you?" she accused with a pout. "You don't think I'll ever get better." 

"I didn't say that, baby," Slash sighed, laying down on one elbow. "But we have to look at this a little...realistically. You're not fully healed yet. These things take time-" 

"Time? Time?!" Flea's voice rose with every word. "I've had enough of _waiting_, Slash! I want my revenge! I want myself to be _whole_ again! Don't you understand?" Her eyes were wide and burned with the glowing hints of her madness returning. 

Not wanting her to get too worked up, Slash scooted close to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I know, Flea," he said softly, pulling her head against his shoulder. 

She allowed herself to sink into his embrace, one arm going around his waist, her left hand clinging to his shirt as she buried her face into the warm hardness of his body. Slash kissed the top of her head, smelling the perfume of her hair, remembering it's silken touch as he had ran his fingers through it once in the midst of passion. "One day you will be well, I promise you." 

"When? When will I be well?" Her voice sounded so small and helpless that it tore the swordsman up inside. He didn't answer her. There was no answer he could give that would make her feel any better. 

Suddenly, the woman in his arms shifted to look up at him. "Take me, Slash," she whispered pleadingly, her voice pathetic in it's misery. "Ravage me. Make me forget what awaits me whenever I close my eyes or let my mind wander. Make me forget _him_ and all he's done to me. Please..." 

Slash looked down into her face and felt a surge of some emotion that would be as close to love as the Mystic would ever know. As his lips came down on hers, and his arms around her back, he wondered if she really wanted this. Maybe she was just using him and really didn't give a rat's hiney about him. But as their clothes fell to the floor and their bodies entwined in the age-old dance, Slash realized that he didn't care. He didn't care if she really didn't mean this and it was just another of her nights of lust to satisfy some inner urge. He wanted this and he wanted her and that was all there was to it. He pushed all thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the present, letting Flea's experienced fingers take him on a journey to another world. 

* * * * * * * * 

His name was Grundle Hobbs and he had a _vision_. 

Of all the men in the food transport that day, he alone stood out from the rest. Grundle was not the brightest of men, nor the best of warriors. Oh, he was smarter than people gave him credit for, but he never pretended to be anything more then what he was. He was the son of a dairy farmer, a country bumpkin with dung on his shoes. He was a little on the hefty side because he was so big boned. He wasn't handsome. In fact, he was so plain that most women wouldn't give him a second look. He had brown hair that was cut pageboy style with brown eyes that were often referred to as cow-like since they looked so soft and almost as intelligent. His armor was rusty and mismatched, making him look comical with his large helmet and crossbow but small breast plate and arm greves. His chain mail looked thread bare, if that was at all possible, and one boot had a hole in the toe and his toes could be seen peeking out. 

No, Grundle was not much of a sight to behold, but that was okay by him. He had a _vision_! 

A turnip careened into his side and bounded off of his armor. He looked down at the missile and then up at the person who had thrown it. More specifically, persons. Four soldiers of his unit lounged in the back of the cart in front of him that was filled with vegetables. The food itself was covered with a heavy cloth to prevent it from soiling. A few hay bales had been added in for the horses and it was upon these that his traveling companions were seated. Their faces wore identical expressions of cruel amusement. 

"Hey, Grundle," a man called Walter spoke up. "Why don't you tell us about your little vision again! We're bored. We could use a good laugh!" 

Grundle set his lips firmly together, determined not to be upset by the man's hurtful teasing. Another object hit him. This time, it was a potato and it struck him on the side of his helmet. The blow was enough to give Grundle a slight headache and he glared at Walter's second youngest brother, Leonard, who had thrown it. While Walter had blue-green hair that was spiky and long, his brother had lavender hair that was short and laid flat on his head. 

"Hey, jackass! We're talking to you!" Leonard shouted. 

When Grundle replied with stony silence, the other soldier jeered, "What's the matter? Why don't you say anything, Grundle? Are you too stupid to talk?" 

"Leave...me..alone," Grundle managed to squeeze out between clenched teeth. 

"Listen to him!" Kyle, a mercenary from Dorino, sneered. "C'mon stupid! Tell us about your vision! We wanna hear all about your dreams of being a hero!" 

Grundle sighed forlornly. He knew that if he didn't say anything, they would keep picking on him till he did. "I don't care what you say," he stated, bitterly. "I will see my dream come true. One day, I will lead men into battle and only I will be able to stop the fight. Through my heroism, I will risk my life to save my battalion from the vile Mystics. People will cheer and call me a hero. Just you wait! It will happen, mark my words." 

Before he was even finished speaking, the four soldiers in the cart had begun to howl with mirth. 

"Oh, stop!" Roland, the fourth man cried, holding his sides. "I can't take any more! Oh, how pathetic can you get?!" 

It was as they all were laughing that their commanding officer, Sir Mitre, rode up. He was a middle-aged man with mutton-chop sideburns and piercing green eyes. His silver armor showed a few nicks and scratches from every day wear, but otherwise looked as if it had not seen battle. The cape he wore was deep blue and his crest was emblazoned on the back. The steed he was astride was a tall, dappled gray gelding. The horse wore battle armor, but it too seemed as if it had never been used for anything besides show. 

"And what is all this noise back here? I assume that you all are still on duty, are you not?" The reproach in his voice was obvious. 

The four soldiers straightened up and saluted. 

"Yes, sir," Walter answered. "Sorry sir. We were telling jokes and we got carried away. It won't happen again, sir." 

Sir Mitre sniffed and nodded. "See that it doesn't." He looked at Grundle who was plodding behind the cart in his slow, steady way. "Why aren't you riding on the cart, soldier?" 

Grundle looked at the men seated in the cart who did their best to appear nonchalant as they gave subtle warnings with their eyes. Grundle looked down, frustrated. "I need the exercise," he offered as his lame excuse. 

The four soldiers choked and snickered up their sleeves. They quickly silenced themselves when their commander gave them a sharp look. But they were not able to hid their amused smiles. 

Sir Mitre wheeled his horse around. "Then come up front with me. I could use a little company while I keep watch." 

The four soldier's smiles dropped off their faces. Being asked to accompany the commander was an honor for any low ranking soldier. And this idiot Grundle had been awarded that privilege? 

The man in question blinked a few times, trying to digest this request. "Uh...certainly, sir. If that is your wish," Grundle said at length. He moved up beside Mitre and together they started up to the front of the line. 

The soldier could feel Walter, Kyle, Leonard, and Roland gazing after him with undisguised fury. But he didn't allow himself to revel in his good fortunes. He was much too shocked to do anything of the kind. He realized that it wasn't every day that a simple peasant like him could be favored so highly as to be a companion to the commander, if only for a little while. 

Since the food transport was long, and Sir Mitre silent, Grundle took the opportunity to look around. The scenery was lovely for that this time of year. The grass was green at the side of the road. The trees in the distance swayed in the wind, their branches making the forest itself look dark and foreboding. Wild flowers dotted the hillsides here and there and farm houses could be seen all around. The usual ground mist was little more then pale wisps today, and they dances playfully through the swaying blades of grass. The war hadn't reached this far south yet, which was a blessing. King Guardia hoped to keep the fighting contained within Truce Canyon and around the castle for as long as possible. He wanted the civilians to move to the lower cities that not been ransacked and ravaged. If the war stayed in one place, less people would be hurt. Less families would be broken up and less farm land would be destroyed. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" 

Grundle was jolted from his sight-seeing by Mitre's voice. "Y-yes, sir. It is. I can't understand why the Mystics want to destroy it." 

Sir Mitre's horse tossed it's head, pulling on the reins. The Knight made soothing sounds and stroked the horse's neck until it settled down again. "Who understands the mysterious nature of evil?" the commander asked. "I'm sure they have some twisted, nefarious reason for doing what they are doing." Sir Mitre fell silent for a moment and then spoke again. "How long have you been in the army...um...uh..." 

"Grundle," Grundle supplied helpfully. 

"Ah, yes, Grundle. How long have you served in the Guardian army?" 

"A few years before the war began, sir. I spent some time as a palace guard, then I worked under the Chancellor as his sentry outside the royal treasury. Then I worked a little as a village patrol person and finally I ended up here." 

"My, you certainly got around. And yet, by the look of your armor, you're not a high ranking soldier, are you?" 

Grundle shook his head, a little downcast. "No, sir. I'm not exactly what one would call leadership material. I don't have the build and...I'm not terribly bright. Oh, I get by, but most of the officers that we have are mercenaries with the money to buy themselves a position. That, or they have taken over the position from another officer who died." He paused, thinking over what he'd just said and the commander kept respectfully quiet. Greatly daring, he added, "If I was in a leadership position, I know I could do better then some." 

"It's a shame and a disgrace," the commander agreed. "When the Hero was just a lowly soldier, he too, fought under men who were ill qualified to lead. But that young man had gumption! He took hold of this army by the nose and turned her around so that every man was given equal chance at the Mystics, regardless of rank or social standing. He made sure everyone who was in command knew what they were doing so that less men would die on the battlefield. But since he attained his grand status, the lessons he taught us are wearing off and most units are returning to their old way of doing things." The Knight looked down at Grundle and smiled, his weathered face looking like crinkled leather. "It's a comfort to see that one person remembers the Hero's teachings." 

"He's a great asset to our side, sir. I only hope that one day I too may enjoy a small moment in command." Grundle instantly wished the words had not flown so easily from his lips. Sir Mitre looked down at him, eyebrows raised in shock. 

"Well, soldier, let's not be too hasty with our hopes and ambitions," the Knight cautioned, slowly. "The Hero was a rather special case. He came from a noble house and had been trained as a Knight all his life. It's not too common that a soldier can rise into the ranks of a Knight." Sir Mitre reached up one hand and rubbed his chin, looking around while trying to think of the best way he could delicately explain the situation. "What I'm trying to say," he said at last, "is that the chances of you making it into any sort of leadership position is-" 

"Impossible," Grundle interrupted, trying to keep the bitter disappointment out of his voice. 

"Unlikely," the Knight finished, lamely. Seeing the carefully controlled face the soldier had put on, he tried to lighten the mood. "Well, cheer up, though, lad! It's an honor to serve your King and country in any way possible. And if you can do it by being the best soldier you know how to be, go for it. It's not very likely that any of us will be remembered after all this is over, and you and I will be no different then the hundreds, even thousands, of others who protected and died for this cause." 

This knowledge didn't cheer Grundle up in the slightest. In fact, it made him that much more depressed. No one understood his dream. If Sir Cyrus could do it, why not him? Special case indeed! Cyrus' family line had been declared in dishonor, making him no better then Grundle was. But for some reason everyone could accept him as their Hero, despite what his father had done. But would they give Grundle, a poor farmer's son the chance to prove that he was as good as any aristocrat? No, they would not. No matter how much people said that they had learned from Cyrus' example, it seemed less and less that they actually had. 

_Maybe Sir Cyrus is a special case after all,_ the soldier thought glumly as he kept up with the commander's horse. _He's managed to break back into the social class he was born into, even though no one thought he would. People accept him because he was only one person. Their little social order wasn't threatened. After all, he was one of them. But for me to do it...That would be a crime too big to forgive. They want to keep their society riffraff free and if I or any one else of my breeding tried to do what he did, we would be squashed so fast we wouldn't even know what hit us._

That was what Sir Mitre had been trying to tell him. Don't overstep your boundaries, stay where you belong. You're not cut from the same cloth as we are. You should make the most of what you have and accept your lot because you'll never achieve anything greater. But Grundle wasn't going to accept that. No way. Never in a million years. Whether it took him the rest of his life to do it, he would see his _vision_ become reality. He would! 

* * * * * * * * 

"Sssquad Leader Sssiphusss." 

The Gnawer looked up at his sub-commander. He was a younger member of their race and this was to be his first real battle. Slith was one of the hatchlings of the Big Elder of their clan and he had wheedled his way into being accepted on this mission. That was okay by Siphus, though, because Slith had a sharp mind and would make a great war captain someday. 

The younger Gnawer had his head lowered respectfully, eyes downcast in the presence of his superior officer. Siphus was curled up on some soft leaves and twigs with his head resting on his coils. The long trek to their current position after the initial teleportation had worn him out. Slithering was much harder then walking, in his opinion. 

"What isss it, Ssslith?" 

"Sssquad Leader Neechar hasss informed usss that the Knightsss will be in posssition shortly. I have deployed five of our troopsss and Neechar'sss second-in-command hasss done the sssame. It isss my hope to dissstract the guardsss up front and lure the othersss away from the sssupliesss. By doing thisss, we can sssneak up unnoticed and teleport what we want before the Humansss ever realize we are there." 

"A brilliant ssscheme, Ssslith," Siphus approved. Slith's neck scales rose a little bit away from his body and turned a pleased shade that was slightly lighter then the rest of his body coloring. "One thing. What if the Humansss don't rise to the bait?" 

Slith's eyes got big and a proverbial sweat drop could bee seen on the side of his face. "Uh...I, uh...guesss we...attack head-on?" 

"Where do we attack?" 

Slith thrashed his tail nervously. "F-flank them, sssir?" he stammered. 

"Why?" Slith looked at Siphus helplessly and now his neck scales blushed with embarrassment, not pride. "We'd do a flanking maneuver becaussse the Humansss will be watching the front becaussse of our dissstraction. If we hit them hard enough and fassst enough, there isss no way they can regroup and recover their advantage." 

"Ad-advantage?" Slith hedged. 

"Sssteel isss their advantage. Ssspeed isss their advantage. Ssstrength asss well. We outnumber them a little bit thisss time, but they have weaponsss that hurt usss far more then our fangsss can do to them." 

"I...sssee." Slith put his head on the ground, a gesture of submission. "Pleassse forgive my ignorance, Sssquad Leader Sssiphusss." 

His commanding officer smiled a snaky smile and stretched out the tip of his tail, rubbing the top of Slith's head, a reptilian version of a pat of the back. "Put it behind you, Ssslith. You are young and have much to learn about warfare. If you knew everything already, I would not be leader and you would be commanding our troopsss yourssself." As Slith digested this comment, Siphus unwound himself from his little bed and rippled his muscles to stretch them. "Come, my young friend. The battle awaitsss. Thossse sssupliesss won't teleport themssselvesss." 

When the time for their attack finally came, it wasn't exactly as Siphus or Neechar had planned it. 

The enemy forces were moving through the designated ambush spot, the Knights at the head, followed by the soldiers. The commander of the unit was in the very lead. The wagons and carts containing the supplies were sorely unprotected from any sort of aerial attack and the soldiers lounging around were blissfully unaware of what danger lurked just out of their vision. Had they been more attentive, they probably could have sensed that something wasn't quite right. The surrounding area was much too silent. No birds chirped in the grass, no breeze stirred the long green stalks, and the horses were starting to get jittery. Several Knights soothingly petted their horses, not thinking it could be a warning against approaching violence. 

Everything seemed to be going as planned. And then...something happened. 

The tall grass at the sides of the road provided perfect hiding places for the Grimalkins who, when sprawled out, looked a bit like a patch of dried weeds. The Gnawers used their natural ability as snakes to blend in with their surroundings. They stayed in the thickest patches of grass so that their deep purple color was not as easy to distinguish. As fate would have it, two members of opposite squads ended up next to each other. 

The Gnawer regarded the Grimalkin with a snake version of raised eyebrows. The Grimalkin squad was on the other side of the road. What was this one doing here? The Grimalkin flopped down in a hurry, accidentally landing on the Gnawer's tail. The Gnawer's eyes got big and his tongue came out of his mouth in a silent screech. With tears in it's eyes, the snake regarded the Grimalkin angrily. 

When the other Mystic realized what it had done and tried to smile apologetically, the Gnawer took this to mean that the Grimalkin had squashed his tail on purpose. He retaliated. 

The Gnawer lashed out and bit the Grimalkin hard on the shoulder, tearing the flesh. The Grimalkin gave a shout and attacked the Gnawer for what it had done. This attracted the attention of the Knights and things began to unravel... 

* * * * * * * * 

Sir, look!" Grundle cried, pointing in the direction of the now totally obvious combating Mystics. 

"It's a trap!" Sir Mitre growled. "Arms at ready, men! It's an ambush!" 

Drawing his sword, he wheeled his horse in the direction of the Mystics who had given the whole surprise assault away. He never reached his goal, however. Before his horse had even cleared the first patch of grass, a Grimalkin leapt up out of it's hiding place, delivering a mighty kick to the commander's side. He flew off his horse and landed in a bone jarring heap, one arm twisted at an odd angle. Sir Mitre cried out as his arm broke and tried to sit up. 

There was a terrified whinny and a crushing weight knocked him back against the ground. Warm blood gushed over his good arm and onto the ground from the hideous wound in the neck of his horse. His armor was no defense against the weight of his dead steed and it was slowly crushing him. A shadow loomed over him and he looked up into the flat, dead eyes of a Gnawer, the same one that had killed his horse. His sword was lying just out of the reach of his broken arm and even as he made a desperate and painful attempt to grab for it, the snake sadistically flipped the weapon out of the Human's reach with the tip of it's tail. 

The last thing Sir Mitre saw was gleaming, blood-soaked fangs descending towards him in a blur of purple scales. 

Though they had been just as unprepared for the sudden thrust into battle, the Mystics felt the thrill of the first kill and bloodlust over came them. They charged out of their hiding spots, killing the Knights and soldiers while they were still in confusion. 

"For the Mysssticsss!" Siphus hissed and the rest of his squad picked up the chant. 

Neechar's brain didn't have time to formulate some equally inspiring rhyme to outdo his rival squad leader so, instead, he headed for the supplies and started grabbing things and tossing them to his men for them to teleport. 

Grundle, who had seen the death of his commander, raised his crossbow, fending off Gnawers while trying to think of what to do. As he finished shooting the last one of his attackers, someone ran into him. 

It was Walter. 

"We're all going to die," the blue-haired man screamed. "We're going to die! We're going to _die!_" Walter's face was panic-stricken and he desperately clutched at Grundle's arm. "The commander is gone, the Mystics are everywhere, and there is nowhere to run. You have to save us, Grundle! You just have to!" 

"What are you talking about?" Grundle snapped. "Why are you whining to me? You have a sword, use it!" He started to pull away but found himself blocked by Leonard, clutching a wound in his thigh. 

Walter's second youngest brother reached out and handed a lump of dented metal to Grundle. "It's Sir Mitre's helmet," Leonard supplied when the chubby soldier gave him a curious look. The gore covered metal was dull and scratched. No longer did the virgin metal sparkle with it's disuse. Now it was near unrecognizable. "This is all that will be left of our army if you don't do something. We're nearly wiped out as it is. You said you wanted to be a leader, then lead!" 

He was right, Grundle realized with a start. This was the moment he had been born for. This was his _vision_, the one he'd so often talked about and been laughed at for. "Do I really have it in me to be the leader I always wished to be?" Grundle asked himself quietly. He gave a look around at the men who fought bravely around him, trying to hold their own against the more powerful Mystics. 

"Well? What do we do, Grundle? Make a stand or retreat?" Walter asked, his voice bordering on the edge of tears, it seemed. 

A decision formed in Grundle's mind. "We stand" he said firmly. "Walter, spread the word to find the leaders of the enemy's group. If they react as badly as our group did to losing their superior, the cowards should make a run for it. Try to take the bosses out as fast as possible." 

Walter nodded and hurried off, shouting above the din to their remaining men. 

"Leonard, you and some others try and protect the supplies as best you can. We can't let the Mystics have them. Protect them with your life." 

"Right," Leonard replied. He paused a second. "Do you think we have a chance to beat them?" 

Grundle's face was grim. "In my honest opinion..." The silence spoke louder than words ever could. Surprisingly, Leonard only nodded understanding and ran off to do as he had been told. Grundle raised his weapon as a grinning Gnawer attacked. The Mystic's head was thrown back as a crossbow bolt buried in it's forehead, the corpse twisting and writhing, unable to understand that it was dead. 

Deep in the heart of battle, Neechar and his troops were having increasing difficulty trying to teleport the supplies from the fight to the Fort. Every time one of his Grimalkins returned, it seemed that there was some Human there who was more than willing to end their pilfering days forever. The Gnawers had their hands full with the bulk of the soldiers but there were still a few stalwart Humans who stood their ground and fought to protect their supplies. After the second or third time that he saw one of his kin slaughtered, Neechar decided he'd had enough. 

Pulling down his bandana, he removed a couple flint stones that he had secreted inside of it. "Now it's time the Human's learn," he rhymed, hopping onto one of the carts, "the Mystics don't just fight, they BURN!" Laughing, he struck the two stones together a few times until sparks sprung from them and landed on the burlap that covered the supplies from harm. Quickly, the dry material caught fire and started to ignite the supplies underneath. 

Cackling in wicked glee, Neechar snagged a flask of wine that he saw and poured the contents over the fire, making it roar like a volcano. Slurping out the last of the wine from the flask, he tossed it onto the blaze and turned to attend to the other carts. 

He didn't have time to react as a sword appeared out of nowhere and skewered him. Neechar found himself stabbed through the center, his body standing motionless on Leonard's sword. 

"Mess with our supplies?" the man sneered. "I don't think so!" 

With a bubbling sigh, the Grimalkin's body went limp, falling backwards off the blade, landing in a heap on the ground. The remaining Grimalkins gradually saw their leader's body and started screaming in fury and terror before they teleported out as fast as they could. 

Siphus watched in anger as his companions at arms suddenly retreated. "That isss ssstupidity, for you!" he hissed to Slith who was casually choking the life out of a Human and trying to fit the head into his mouth at the same time. Siphus gave the snake equivalent of a raised eyebrow. "You shouldn't play with your food," he added. 

Slith blushed and settled for just biting the top of the soldier's head off. Lifting the corpse with his tail, he threw it away from him. It landed with a thud that was anything but pleasant, especially when gore splattered everywhere. "Ssso, what'sss the plan, sssir?" the young snake asked, watching another of his kind cut to pieces under an ax. He felt neither outrage nor sorrow at the other Gnawer's passing. Unlike warm-blooded creatures, he had the ability to treat death with a surprising lack of emotion. He was, after all, a relative of snakes and as such, his blood rarely stirred with such emotions. 

Siphus surveyed the battle and the burning supplies. "I think we've done enough damage for one day," he sighed with satisfaction. "Let usss return to the Fort." Raising his voice past it's usual whisper took some doing, but he managed to shout the order to withdraw. The team of Gnawers gathered around Siphus, leaving their wounded behind. When they were all assembled, they teleported. 

Walter placed the tip of his blade in the dirt and leaned on his weapon. "I...I don't believe it," he stammered. "They're gone." 

"Hey! Has anyone seen Kyle?" Roland shouted as he finished hacking up a dying Grimalkin that had been left behind. "Is he dead?" 

"You think a little scuffle like this could kill me, Roland?" the mercenary laughed weakly as he leaned on Leonard who was helping him walk. His right arm was a mangled mess and it was obvious that it was broken. He'd tied a rough tourniquet around it to help stanch the bleeding. Leonard sat him down on the back of one of the wagons. 

"Guys, let's move these other carts away from the one on fire," Roland suggested, jerking his thumb at the flaming wreckage. "Don't want the rest of these supplies to go up in smoke, eh?" Together with the remaining men and horses, they managed to move the carts a short distance from the fire. 

As they began tending the wounded, Leonard suddenly spoke. "Hey, has anybody seen Grundle?" 

Kyle grimaced as a fellow soldier helped him put his arm into a makeshift sling. His words were tight with pain. "You mean our fearless leader?" He jerked his head in one direction. "I last saw him fighting the Mystics over that way. If it wasn't for him, I might have gotten more than my arm hurt." 

"Did you see what happened to him?" Leonard asked. 

Kyle shrugged and then gasped in pain as it moved his wounded arm. "How the hell should I know? You think I had nothing better to do with my time then to look out for one fat, wanna-be leader?" 

Leonard nodded. "I guess you're right. Oh, well. He's probably chopped liver, anyway. I'm sure we'll find him when we gather the bodies up." 

"Gather up what?" Roland asked as he came to stand beside the two. 

"The bodies," Kyle answered. "We'll need to gather them up so we can bring them back for a burial." 

Roland shrugged. "Why not just toss 'em on the fire? I mean, it's already there, might as well make use of it, huh? I know that most of these guys ain't got no families anyway. And if we carry 'em along with us, they'll only start to stink. Besides, all the carts are loaded with supplies. Where would we put 'em?" 

"Good point," Leonard added. "I guess I'll go start doing that now before the fire burns out." 

* * * * * * * * 

"You did what?!" 

Ozzie winced. "Lower your voice, my boy. You don't have to shout. I still can hear pretty well. I'm not _that_ old yet! I said, I sent a squad of troops to go attack the Human's food supplies. You told me that you didn't want anything more to do with this war, right? Well, I figured you meant it this time and sent someone else to do the job. What is there to get upset about?" 

"The point," Magus stressed, "was how you managed to keep me so remarkably uninformed as to what was going on. Since when do you start making plans around here without me knowing about it?" 

This comment made Ozzie's spine stiffen in outrage. "Since when does the Leader of the Mystic Hoards have to answer to _you_ for his actions?"" 

But you _always_ tell me about what you're planning to do because you _always_ want me to help in some way." Janus' voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "When have my services suddenly become a commodity that you can forgo?" 

Ozzie chortled and rubbed his hands together. "Now who's worried about their position?" he gloated. "Afraid that I may have found a replacement for you and that you are suddenly someone expendable?" 

"Don't threaten me, Ozzie," Magus said dangerously, straightening his gloves and drawing himself up to his imposing height. "I'm in the threat business." Whirling on his heel, cape flaring like the wings of some bat, the magician stormed out of the room. 

As soon as he was gone, Ozzie relaxed and leaned back in his throne. He mopped his forehead with his sleeve. That had gone surprisingly well. It had taken everything money could buy to keep his troops silent about the mission the Gnawers and Grimalkins were undergoing. The best way to gain an advantage over your enemy is to beat them to the punch and keep them in the dark about what your next move will be. 

_Well, my dear Magus,_ Ozzie thought._ Let's see how well you play at your own game..._

* * * * * * * * 

He couldn't believe it. Ozzie had gone over his head and made a decision without his help. 

_Since when did I start caring about this army?_

Well, he didn't. But he did care about what it planned to do to the Humans. Cutting off their food supplies was a surprisingly smart move on Ozzie's part. Janus knew exactly what Ozzie was plotting when he'd informed the magician of his plans. 

_But why hadn't he done so **before** the troops left? Why didn't he clear it with me and see if I wanted to help?_

Could it really be that Ozzie was indeed leaving him out of the war, once and for all? As unlikely as it seemed, that apparently was the case. 

"But it feels so...wrong, somehow," Janus said out loud, coming to a halt outside in the dead garden area of the Fort. "This isn't like Ozzie at all...I hate mysteries." 

The young man sat down on the edge of the dried up, dusty fountain with it's images of slender humanoids like Flea holding urns in their hands. Once, water would have poured from the statue's urns but not now. Cobwebs were strewn over everything along with dead vines. Cracks had appeared, marring the stone that was so old it was brown with age. Fish bones under the dust in the bowl of the fountain showed that there had once been what seemed to be rather large carp swimming around. But like everything else the Mystics owned, they let it fall into disrepair. Whoever had the fountain first installed had good taste. 

The whole garden must have been beautiful when it was alive. A variety of flowering bushes and trees had filled the place with a flurry of color and a ghost of their perfume still lingered as a breeze stirred shriveled brown leaves and flower petals in dust devils. So fragile were they that the decaying plant matter often crumbled at the slightest touch. Magus could almost picture the patches of dirt to be covered with lush green grass that looked as soft as a carpet and almost as thick. The sound of water reached his ears as he imagined the fountain behind him coming to life, splashing him with little droplets of water. Brightly colored, ornamental fish swam amongst decorative lily pads. The rustle of leaves and an overpoweringly sweet fragrance assaulted his senses as the whole garden was reborn in his mind's eye. 

"Janus..." 

"Schala..." His heart beat faster as he pictured his long-lost sister stepping out from behind a tree, flowers crowning her silken blue hair. They were white throated roses with the petals turning a blushing pink. They accented the sky blue of her hair and their color was reflected in the shade that rested on her lips and cheeks. This was how he remembered Schala, before Lavos had his way with her and his vile mother had turned her into a zombie. She was perfect in every way. Love bloomed in his heart again, just as the garden had in this fantasy world of his own creation. 

Smiling, Janus imagined rising to meet her, taking her in his arms and hugging her close to himself. She reached her arms around him and held him as she had when he was a boy. 

"I miss you so much...," he whispered against her hair. "I know you are out there somewhere, waiting for me to come and save you." 

"There is someone else who need saving first." 

Janus drew back and regarded his sister's image curiously. "Who?" 

"Cyrus." 

"Why would Cyrus need my help?" 

"Ozzie has planned a raid on the food supplies. If the army doesn't get them, they will slowly starve. And that means, in a roundabout way, that you were conspiring against Cyrus, thus breaking your vow." 

"But it wasn't my order that sent those troops to attack those Knights. How does that break our pact?" 

"You knew about it and could have stopped it or at least warned him." 

Magus sighed inwardly. "This friendship seems a lot more trouble then it's worth." 

"You're telling me." 

The magician looked sharply at the image of Schala. It was still her, but there was something...different about her. Something didn't feel right as it had a moment ago. She wouldn't have said something like that. She smiled sweetly. "Oh, don't look so shocked. It's not like I'm actually real or anything. I'm just a figment of your warped imagination." 

Janus tried to think of something to say but the image of Schala was correct. 

"And you really need to stop talking to yourself," she said, starting to fade. "It makes people think you're crazy." 

"I will find her one day," Janus muttered at last, starting to rouse from his stupor. 

The image shrugged. "What are you telling me for? I'm just make believe..." 

Magus opened his eyes with a start. He was back in the dead garden. Only the hazy afternoon sun brought any semblance of life to the otherwise lifeless surroundings. No water flowed from the fountain, no flowers bloomed, the grass was brown and dry. But he wasn't alone. Looking up, he saw Slash leaning opposite him against a withered tree. 

"Do you often take naps in public places?" the swordsman asked casually but with a hint of mocking sarcasm in his tone. Janus studied him, from his rumpled pants to his open white undershirt that was hanging partly out of the top of his pants and looked like it had been thrown on in haste. Under his arm was Slasher and the rest of his apparel. 

"I see Flea isn't totally inactive," Magus responded with a sneer. "You've probably been giving her quite a workout." He cocked his head. "Does she let you do it to her, Slash, or do you just tie the raving lunatic down?" 

Surprisingly, Slash let that comment go without doing bodily injury to his fellow Mystic. "That is exactly the type of reaction I would expect from a _boy_." The blue man stressed the word. "Only someone as ignorant of the ways of the world such as yourself would be stupid enough to ask such a question." 

Now it was Magus' turn not to rise to the bait. He swallowed around the lump of angry words forming in his throat, fighting down the rosy blush that threatened to stain his cheeks crimson. 

Slash smirked, raising his arm and draping his outer clothing over his left shoulder, holding his sword by the scabbard in the other hand. "Well, I'm going to go get cleaned up and changed now. You can go back to your nap. Sorry to have bugged you." 

"I wasn't taking a nap," Janus stated defensively as Slash hovered by. "I came out here to get away from idiots like you. I wanted to do some thinking." 

"There are better ways to clear your mind, kid," Slash said over his shoulder. "But then, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" He started laughing as he went back inside the Fort. 

Janus' hands were clasped tightly together as he reigned in his temper and got to his feet. Pushing Slash and his irritating jibes from his mind, he thought over what the image of Schala had told him. _I guess I have no choice but to send Cyrus word about the approaching attack. If anything, it will get me in better graces with him and prove that I'm not really such a bad guy._

Magus looked around and, after assuring himself that no one was around to see him, he teleported. 

* * * * * * * * * 

Slash hurriedly belted Slasher around his waist, cursing silently as his clothes tangled the hilt. He'd donned his purple gi and boots as soon as he was out of the other Mystic's sight. He tossed on his weighted white and purple jacket to finish his look. 

It wasn't every day that he could catch the opportunity to spy on the young man. Here was a golden chance to study the strange behavior Magus had been exhibiting lately. He peeked around the corner and watched as Janus got to his feet and teleported from the castle. 

Slash grinned to himself as he wondered where the young magician could have to go that needed teleporting. If it was anything good, he would find it out for Ozzie as he had been instructed to do. 

Making sure that everything was in place, he stretched out what little magic he had to find the magical residue that all teleports leave behind in the astral fields. He may not have been a magician in the rights of Flea and Janus, but he wasn't a complete idiot where sorcery was concerned. No one lives around magic for their whole life without picking up something about it. Getting a firm mental hold on the magic trail, Slash followed after Janus, keeping at a respectful distance so that he would remain undetected. 

* * * * * * * * 

_If you ever need to get in touch with me, come by the tree you blew up with your magic..._Janus recalled those words as he poked at the charred wood of the tree with a sharp stick. Parts broke off and fell on the ground with little charcoal flakes following it. Sometimes he encountered wood that hadn't been burned completely. 

Waiting around here was the hardest part. It was too close to the enemy camp for comfort and too out in the open during the day. His purple cloak would stand out against the brown and green foliage surrounding him. He had an itchy feeling between his shoulder blades that there was an arrow out there with his name on it, just waiting to sink into his spine. That was nonsense, of course. With the protective magic barrier he had cast around himself, nothing short of a magic attack could get through. 

_This is stupid_, he thought to himself for the sixth time in the last three minutes. _Why I am sticking my neck on the cutting block for a Human who won't even appreciate what I'm doing for him is beyond me. It's not as if we're even friends anymore, even if we had been once upon a time._

Ack! What was he thinking? He was a prince and Cyrus was a magicless Human nobody of low nobility, not worthy enough to polish Magus' boots let alone be called a friend. And yet, Cyrus had spared his life and then helped him escape from what would have been a very unpleasant encounter with the Knights. He owed Cyrus for doing that. That was why he was here now, risking his life for a man who would kill him without hesitation, he knew, if he even suspected that Janus was the Magus everyone talked about. 

_If Ozzie knew about this, it would be my head on a spike._ Tossing the stick down in disgust, he placed his hands behind his back and paced nervously. _Okay, it's not like Ozzie could really hurt me or anything, but there are a lot more Mystic warriors then there are of me and many of them aren't half bad with spell-slinging..._Angrily, he shook his head. _Bah! I have enough power in my little finger to blow this whole stinking continent to Lavos and back. Ozzie knows this. He wouldn't dare try anything. He's too cowardly and weak._

Janus stopped and adjusted his gloves, tugging them back into place. It really didn't do him any good to get all worked up, he realized. As long as Ozzie didn't meddle with his affairs then the fat green Mystic could play war all he wanted and bring the wrath of the gods down on his head for all Magus cared. 

After another five to ten minutes of waiting, it began to be apparent that Cyrus probably wasn't very likely to show up any time soon that day. It was simply too dangerous to wait around for a Human who wasn't going to show, no matter how hard Magus wished it. 

"No one can say I didn't try," Janus huffed to himself under his breath, giving one last look in the direction of the enemy camp. "I'm not his keeper, despite any unfortunate debts I owe him. It's not my army and it isn't my responsibility and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit around here all day and wait to be spotted." Touching his forehead with two fingers, he teleported back to Ozzie's Fort. 

* * * * * * * * * 

"You say it looked as if he were waiting for something?" 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Hmm. Very interesting. I wonder..." 

"Lord?" 

Ozzie blinked and returned to the present, shrugging aside his musings. They were in the large, vaulted library deep within the catacombs of the Fort. The Mystic leader was seated behind a giant oak desk, leaning forward towards his captain. Slash sat opposite him in a stiff-backed chair. All around them were books. 

While Ozzie wasn't an avid reader, the ruler before him had been and had gathered a very impressive assortment of literature on magic and it's various uses. After Ozzie had moved into the office when the old leader had died, he had been so excited to finally be at the top that he kept putting off getting rid of the musty things until he forgot completely. Now, he accepted their presence rather like one does a fact of life. It's there, ignore it. 

"It was nothing, Slash. Forget it," Ozzie said, switching his attention back onto the other Mystic. "I was trying to think who he might have been trying to contact. A Human, obviously." 

Slash agreed. "Yes, but why?" 

"Probably to warn that person about the imminent attack on their food supplies caravan." Ozzie toyed with a wine glass, rolling it between his fleshy palms, thinking, heedless of the fact that the wine was getting dangerously close to sloshing out of it. "You're positive he saw no one and spoke with no one?" 

"Completely, sir," Slash stated firmly. "I didn't see hide nor hair of anything remotely Human come within a hundred yards of him and I didn't detect any telepathic communication occurring." 

"No, there wouldn't be. I don't know of any Humans who can do that. I don't even think Magus himself can do that. He's too close to their blood line, if he isn't part of it already." 

"I've wondered about that myself. We Mystics do it all the time but he seems to be oblivious to it. His brain waves could be on a different frequency from ours." 

Ozzie waved the matter away. "Ah, well. There will be time to ponder that later." 

"Who do you think the person could be? The one he's trying to contact, that is?" 

"That is what I want you to find out, Slash. Keep your eyes open closely, more so then you had them before. I want an update on the hour. I want to know who he talks to, where he goes, what he does there, when he eat, when he sleeps, when he takes a-" 

"Okay! Quit it! I get the message!" The blue swordsman sighed. "Why do I always get the hard jobs?" 

Ozzie took a long drink from his glass and set it on the cracked wood of his armrest. "Because you're special," he said pleasantly. "Now get going." Slash rose and bowed, then hovered out of the room, grumbling about something that it was just as well Ozzie didn't hear. 

* * * * * * * * 

_I did it. I actually saved the day. My vision came true!_ Grundle felt his lips lift in a small smile. He felt cold and he hurt all over, but he didn't care. He was a hero. He'd saved the supply wagons from being completely destroyed by the Mystics. He'd been the leader he always wanted to be. His life was complete. 

His eyes opened slowly and though his eyes were blurry, the sky above him had never looked so amazing with it's gray and blue mixture. The smoky air wasn't cloying. It had never seemed more fresh to him in his whole life. The hard ground that was soaked through with his blood was as soft as any velvet cushion to him. He knew he was dying. You could only fight so many Mystics before that happened. He couldn't feel his legs anymore. The Gnawers had swarmed him, biting and wrapping around him, breaking bones under their powerful coils. He wasn't afraid of dying. Not now. He had seen his dream become reality. 

"Here he is," came a voice from somewhere near him. It sounded as if he was underwater. The voice was slurred and muted. Grundle felt as if his head were wrapped in a thick quilt. It was hard to breath and to hear. 

Leonard's face swam into his view along with Roland's. "Wow. They worked him over pretty badly, didn't they?" Roland whistled. 

Leonard leaned in close. "Grundle, can you still hear me?" he asked. 

"Yes," the man managed to croak. His voice sounded strange. "I'm not...killed...so easily." He tried to laugh but it came out as a bubbly gurgle. 

Roland grimaced in disgust and looked away and Leonard lowered his eyes. 

"Just hang on," Roland grated through clenched teeth. "We'll get some people over here to help you." 

Grundle shook his head ever so slightly. "Don't...bother. I'm done for." It was true. He could feel his heart starting to slow down to it's last fatal beats and his vision was getting dark. "Promise me," he whispered through numb lips, "that I'll...get a...hero's burial..." 

Roland leaned close to Leonard and whispered something into his ear but Leonard shook his head with a look of confusion. "Uh, we promise, Grundle. Just rest easy. You saved the day. You're a great leader..." 

Grundle only barely heard what the man was saying. Dark waters seemed to close over his head, drowning out the sound of his voice and blocking the light of the sky from his eyes. _I did good_, were his last thoughts as the soldier surrendered to death. 

Leonard stopped talking as he realized that Grundle's body had gone limp with finality. 

"Jeeze, I thought he was never going to die!" Roland muttered, wiping dust off of his knees. "What was he asking us to promise him?" he asked again. 

The other man shrugged. "Eh, I don't know. I just agreed with him." 

"What was all that garbage about him being such a good leader and stuff?" 

"I just wanted to make him feel good in his last minutes. There's no harm in telling a few white lies. I mean, c'mon. It's not like he'll ever know we weren't serious." 

Roland nodded. "I guess you're right. Well, help me heft this heavyweight onto the fire. You get the head and I'll get his feet..."  
  
_And thus was the passing of a soldier. He was not the brightest, nor the best looking but he had a good heart and a dream that he wouldn't let die. As Sir Mitre had said, he was not remembered for his deeds when the war was over. He was not given the hero's funeral that he deserved. Instead, he became just another of the many casualties, faceless and unrecognized. But something happened that day, whether anyone admitted it to themselves or not. It's not the big things that win a war. It's the little things that we do that make all the difference in life, the things that often go unrewarded._

  
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has stayed with my story this far! Wow, so many reviews... Thanks for taking the time to let me know what you think. It's because of you that I have continued to put things on Fanfiction.net. =) 

  


  



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